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fLIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I 

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I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | 



'^ntms. 



ELFEEIDE OF &ULDAL 



51 ItiiiiMMiiiflE lBgi!ni ; 



OTHEli POEMS 



BY 



MARKS OF BARHAMVILLE. 



NEW-YORK: J 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY. 

PHILADELPHIA : 
GEO. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESTNUT STREET 

1850. 



v-* 



^^ 



^^ 



\^ 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
of New-York. 



CONTENTS 



Elfreide of Guldal 9 

Semael 71 

Maia 97 



WEEDS FROM LIFE'S SEA-SHORE. 

The Chrysalis 131 

The Maniac-Mother 135 

El Tap 139 

To J. P. M 140 

The Inner- World . : 142 



VI CONTENTS. 

Thoughts 147 

The Peasant-Wife 152 

The Tablet 156 

The Globe- Amaranth 160 

To the Evening Star 162 

Mary 164 

" Nacoochee " 168 

The Artist ! . . 173 

La Fayette 184 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL 



A SCANDINAVIAN LEGEND. 



Extra anni solisque vias." — Vir&il. 



The following Poem refers to the close of the thirteenth and 
beginning of the fourteenth centuries ; a period rife with interesting 
historical associations, and one in which the European mind receives 
a wonderful impulse. It is the age of the First Edward, of Wallace, 
and of Bmce ; of Llewyllen, and of the last minstrelsy of the Cam- 
brian bards. It is associated with the Hohenstaufen, a race with 
whom much of soul-stirring and ennobling deed is connected ; of 
the rise of the Hapsbourg, who, with the exception of Rodolph, its 
founder, possess a character the most opposite to the preceding dy- 
nasty ; of the great and successful struggle of Helvetic freedom ; of 
the re-assembling of the Titrs etats under Philip the Fair, and of 
the successful opposition to papal tyranny ; of the first regular Par- 
liament of England ; of the noble stand made by the Barons of 
Arragon against monarchical supremacy ; and last, not least, of the 
discovery of Greenland, and the landing on the New England coast 
by the Normans — the people who are the subject of this Poem, and 
the countrymen of Elfreide. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 



PART I. 

Midnight is past ; the west'ring moon looks down 
Upon a waste of waters, stretching far 
From the Norwegian to Icelandic shore ; 
And surging inland to the rock-girt Nide, 
Laves the gray walls of Drontheim's time-worn towers. 
Swift speeding from its mountain-source, the Moa, — 
It's crisped wave lit by the cold moonbeam, — 
Like chief impatient for the battle-field, 



10 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Speeds oceanward ; but meeting in its path 
Thy lovely vale, sweet Guldal, slacks its course, 
And gently winding slow, enamored woos 
Thy flowery shelves, as if now loath to leave 
Beauty surpassing for a scene of strife. 

But who is he, at this unwonted hour, 
When the sleek reindeer seeks his lichen-bed. 
Looks o'er the wave from yon projecting cliff? 
His cloak is girt around ; for the night-breeze, 
Although 'tis summer-tide, is chill ; — uncoiff'd 
He gives his fever'd brow to the keen winds. 
• 'Tis the young Harald, Scandinavia's pride. 
Of Drontheim's youth most favored ; Haco's son, 
Haco, who on the field of Esterdal, 
Shook off the vassal-fetters of the Dane, 
And on the Dofrine's highest peak, uprais'd 
The ensign of his country's charter'd rights. 

But why is it, that thus the son foregoes 
The sweets of home, of cultured friends, of ease, 
Accustom'd letter'd toil, and minstrelsy, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 11 

To wander at this midnight hour, in scenes 
Where the lynx skulking, and the prowling wolf 
Seek the wild shore for what the waves have left ? 

Is it ambition thwarted ? has the friend 
On whom his soul repos'd, betray'd his trust ? 
Has she, the lov'd Elfreide, of humble birth, 
The loveliest of Guldal's maids, has she 
Prov'd false to vows, which made her wholly his, 
Turning her vision from his fallen state. 
Like evening cloud, when bright-ey'd day has fled? 

O no, not these ; in the spring-tide of joy, 
When his full soul had on the billow-top 
Of fortune's wild, unconquerable sea, 
In expectation mounted ; and the shore. 
Where honor would have reap'd her laurel'd wreath, 
A ppear'd in prospect ; even then came o'er 
A causeless, nameless horror, loathing strange 
Of what seem'd bright without. Soul-plum'd ambition, 
Heart of the world, which gives its pulse to being, 
Droop'd in an instant ; and the fiend despair — 



12 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Whose siren whisperings are like the moan 
Of ocean-shell, telling of happier home, 
And coral palaces beneath the deep — 
Bade his sad burdened spirit flee away. 

As from electric cloud, the thought flash'd home. 
That all which seemed so glorious to his hopes. 
Of living in the lives of men unborn. 
Was but a day-dream, a bright tissue wov'n 
To sport before his fame-deluded eye, 
Like fairy, swinging on a gossamer 
In moon-lit bower. 

Thus the golden chain, 
Which links the soul to its original, 
And from that centre sends its meshes forth 
To human hearts, was broken. Now, no more 
In things without, what truly is within 
The volume of the soul, and only there. 
Bright forms of beauty and of grace disport. 
All these reflect upon his sadden'd being. 
Not as a summer's sun, but as the lights 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 13 

Which now are flick'ring round yon arctic pole, 
Marshalling their hosts in heaven. E'en music's self, 
That once entranc'd his ear — the symphony 
Of many-voiced nature — the hoarse dash 
Of the vex'd wave afar, commingling wild 
With the deep organ-note of mountain pine, 
Swept by the midnight breeze ; the piping cry 
Of the lone sea-gull, speeding homeward late — 
All these, which once mysteriously chim'd in 
With kindred chords — no longer have response. 

But hark ! on the swart bosom of the night, 
A chant of voices dissonant, comes forth 
In the far distance — dying now away, 
"As the wind sweeps the wold. The surging wave 
With clamor hoarse, now breaks the swelling strain, 
Now gives a fit accompaniment to w'hat 
Seems rather wild lament, than gleesome song. 

By devious path, where late the mountain flood 
Descended to the sea, where fir-clad cliffs 
Arise on either hand, muffling his cloak 



14 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Closely around him, Harald follows on, 
To where the chant arises. At his tread, 
The sea-mew, pent within the hollow cleft. 
Whirrs screaming seaward. Listening the dash 
Of the fast ebbing tide, with visage turn'd 
To the late moon nearing th' Atlantic wave, 
He hies him on. Again the chant swells up 
Nearer and nearer, more unearthly wild 
And fiendish in its wail. 

A cavern's mouth, 
Shrouded with stunted yew and hemlock shagg'd, 
Jutting far out into the ocean-wave. 
Now frowns upon his sight. High overhead, 
From its projecting brow, shooting far o'er 
The roaring surge beneath, a scathed ash, 
Like castle-banner waving in the wind. 
Flouts the still air, and 'gainst the northern sky, 
Lit up with Boreal blaze, seems like a blot 
Upon the beauteous visage of the night. 
Wild screaming flies the ominous bird of prey, 



ELFPuEIDE OF GULDAL. 15 

Rook'd in its top ; and poising in the blast. 
Seeks the safe shelter of the cavern's mouth. 
Now with uncertain tread, yet pausing oft, 
He threads the mazes of the winding cave. 
Forth from a crevice, near at hand, gleams forth 
A lurid light, like fen-fire seen at eve 
By the late traveller. Anon arise 
Wild bursts of wassail-glee ; and now full hoarse, 
A dirge-like hollow voice evokes strange names, 
Uncouth of sound and utt'rance. 

On his brow 
Thick dew-drops stand ; while horror and dismay 
Arrest the mantling blood. And now, behold, 
Through the cleft rock, a dark mysterious rite, 
Plied by a haggard, wild, unearthly crew, 
Confounds his gaze. 

Around a caldron's blaze, 
A motley, strange-attired group is rang'd, 
With hands enlink'd, and incantation dread, 
Like that which Isis' temple saw of yore, 



16 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Their shrunken, fiendish visages illum'd 
By the blue flame, lit up with horrid joy. 

With mutter'd spell, the crones pursue their task 
Of invocation, throwing in the vase 
Night-gather'd venom, fraught with noxious power. 
The work complete, each dips her shrivell'd arm 
Within the kettle, and anoints her eyes. 
Now with triumphant shout, joining their hands. 
While the vast autre echoes through its depths. 
With haggish yell, and harsh and uncouth speech, 
They dance around, with antic step and swing, 
And head awry, and gibb'ring laugh and shriek ; — 
And while the wondering Harald shrinks aghast, 
With sense astounded, in the sheltering nook, 
Away they scour, far bound on hellish deed. 

Transfix'd with horror, and in wild amaze, 
At what seems but a phantom, which the night, 
Clad in her many-tissu'd robe of dreams. 
Disported 'fore his fear-appalled sense, 
List'ning his bosom's throb, he looks around, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 17 

And ever and anon, bewilder'd asks 
His horror-stricken breast, if what he sees 
Is of the earth ; and now, with desperate step 
He treads the imhallow'd cave of sooty hue, 
So lately trod by the weird sisterhood. 

O'er the expiring flame still bubbles up 
The potent fluid, nmade up of noxious weed, 
Gather'd at midnight hour midst the wild moor. 
While that the moon amidst the rifting clouds, 
Hurrying impatient down the westei'n sky, 
Veil'd her pale forehead, frighted with ihe deed. 
Within the charmed vase he dips, and to his eyes 
Applies the liquid, when at once, behold ! 
As if call'd up by skill of necromance, 
Opens a new creation to his sense ! 

Myriads of tiny forms, fantastic, trim. 
Which 'fore the eye oft sport, when th' o'ertasked brain 
Would seek oblivion to world-jaded thought, 
Wanton around him, gorgeous in array ; 
Transform'd in shape, of visage quaint, whereon 



18 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Sit mockery and spite, malignant mirth, 
And profFer'd courtesy, with eyes askance, 
That beam'd false homage, vanity, and hate. 
On elfin wing, some chase with hornet-barb 
The bubbles, as they course the caldron's brink. 
Or upward fly to catch the vapory wreath, 
Curling it back in very wantonness. 
Anon before his gaze a figure flits. 
Beckoning him on, then vanishes in air. 
Again arise to view gay, laughing meads, 
Bright vales, and sunny glades, inviting groves. 
With branches arching. Others overhead, 
Whose pendent boughs extended to his hand 
Hesperian fruit of various smell and hue. 
Which as he tries to pluck, evanishing. 
Gives to his grasp the bur and prickly thorn ; 
While from a thousand caves, re-echoing wide, 
Bursts of infernal laughter greet his ear. 

Soul-fraught with horror, thro' the chasm'd rock 
He speeds his way. Meanwhile the pale-eyed moon. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 19 

Sinking beneath the beetling cliff, throws forth 

Shadows of giant length athwart his path. 

Still, still the phantoms hover 'fore his sight, 

Altho' more faint, as if their filmy forms 

Cannot abide the broad and wholesome air, 

Which comes refreshing through the mountain gorge, 

Cooling his temples. 

In the distance, gleams, 
Furrow'd with light, the rippling ocean-surge, 
Darken'd again by the storm-rifted cloud. 
Which course the heavens a solitary rack — 
Its sable stole turning a silv'ry fleece 
To the wave-seeking orb of far-spent night ; — 
While scudding seaward, the lone fisher's sail 
Breaks on the dark ground of the distant deep. 

Morn now is redd'ning o'er the Dofrine's brow, 
And yet the mother trims the turret-fire. 
Flashing far o'er the wave and rocky fell. 
Anxious and trembling for her truant son. 
But there is one, where Moa's waters flow, 



20 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Whose vesper-pray'r and early orison 
Ascend for him, so late estrang'd in thought — 
An alien now to plighted love and home. 
See, with the dawn she saunters down the vale, 
Gathers the pansy, he was wont to praise, 
And puts it in her tress. Alas, that cheek, 
On which the dew-drop of the flower now falls, 
Is wet already with the tears of night. 

And who but woman, with endurance arm'd, 
Her bosom an exhaustless fount of love. 
Can minister to wretchedness like his ? 
O, 'tis her heart alone, that in its pulse 
Feels sorrow throbbing in another heart. 
Man's pity greets in the world's busy mart ; — 
'Tis woman seeks the cloister'd grief within. 

And now his home receives him ; with amaze 
The parent sees strange horror in his wan 
And haggard aspect ; while his restless eye. 
With wild expression, wanders round and round. 
On objects she beholds not. She who once 



ELFFv-EIDE OF GULDAL. 

Knew all the foldingvS of his youthful breast, 

Reads not its secret ; 'tis mysterious lore. 

Sleep comes ; but O, what sleep is that, wherein 

Again in dark procession, pass the forms 

Which waking vision gave. Once more stand forth 

The wizard-shore, the darkly-veiled moon, 

The ever restless, undulating deep. 

And heavens clad in black ; from cliff to cliff 

He toils in agony of soul ; o'erlooks 

The abyss below, and giddy topples down 

Full many a fathom in the roaring tide. 

The agony awakes him ; — fever'd, wild, 
He lifts him from his brain-distracting sleep. 
The sun rides high in heav'n ; but yet the mist 
Hangs in the mountain gorge a feath'ry wreath, 
Disporting in fantastic, varying form. 

Amidst the melody of morn, the song 
Of thrush and linnet, piping merrily, 
And skylark, mounting up into the vault 
Of the blue welkin, far above the rack 



21 



22 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Of drifting cloud — a speck in ether now ; 

Amidst the matin song of forester, 

Wending betimes to his accustom'd toil ; 

The gay light-hearted carolling of her, 

Who tends the lowing kine by Guldal's side ; 

'Midst all the genial harmony around, 

Behold the high-soul'd youth, whose man was wont 

To look a- tiptoe i' the far-off sky 

Of the bright future ; — O behold him now. 

Where earthward tending, like the scythed flower 

He droops in sickliness of very hope. 

Alas, for him, who walks the round of life. 
With mind o'er which the pall of with'ring doubt 
Hangs with its sable foldings, shutting out 
The blessed light of heav'n ! Existence here 
Weighs like an incubus upon the soul ; 
And if at times imagination bring 
Some gleam of sunshine to the shrouded sense, 
'Tis but the lurid lightning's distant blaze. 
Showing the trav'ler faint and far astray. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 23 

The frowning horror of the sky o'erhead. 

And this were nought, were but the past a blank ; 
But then, even then, the sibyl memory, 
As if in very mockery and spite, 
Holds up the glowing transcript of gone days, 
And like a fierce inquisitor, seeks out 
The part whereon her engine can inflict 
Severest torture, and applies it there. 

Then in an instant, with a light intense. 
The past crowds in, disports and vanishes. 
Once more he bounds light-hearted to the chase. 
Pursues with spear the fold-assailing wolf. 
And drags him bleeding from his mountain lair ; 
Or, in the list caparison'd, his casque 
Deck'd with the ostrich plume by Elfreide's hand, 
With spear in rest, he seeks his fair one's side. 
And claims the guerdon dearest to his heart. 

And till that hour, when that the fiend despair, 
Gave the dark surmise, whose soul- withering blight 
Came like a mildew o'er his spring of life. 



24 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Whispering that all, the future opened up 

To his enchanted sight, was but a lure 

To cheat him into being — till that hour, 

Love, lore and minstrelsy, a tissue bright. 

Wrought with hope's golden web, enclasp'd his breast 

With fold more ample than imperial robe. 

Look on the wreck of empire, 'midst the grave 
Of nations pause ; upturn the sculptur'd stone, 
The fluted column, frieze or architrave ; 
Go view the marble waste, wherein the ghost 
Of ages sits, shrouded in silent gloom ; 
Where Tadmore, Thebes, and Meroe repose 
With cowled visage, stooping low in dust, — 
Then turn to where the heaven-illumin'd mind, 
Impress of its divine original, 
Falls from its pedestal and prostrate lies ! 

But lo, what object now arrests his sight ; — 
Who on that grassy knoll, where Moa's wave 
In murmur gushes o'er its pebbly bed. 
With eye intent upon the rippling stream, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 25 

And yet in thought estrang'd from all around, 
Nor heeds his tread, nor marks his near approach ? 
'Tis she, his Elfreide : but how chang'd since last 
They met in Guldal's vale, where hope and joy 
Lit up their mutual being, promising 
A halcyon sky, un visited by storm. 

Already at her side, his arm enclasps 
Her drooping form ; — she on his shoulder rests 
Her lovely head, bow'd down with silent grief. 
Like hyacinth surcharg'd by low'ring sky. 

"My Elfreide here ? O tell why strayest thou, 
Far from thy home ? thy cheek indeed is pale." 

" Harald, dost thou ask this ? — but I'll not chide, 
A stranger-language comes from thy dark eye ; 
O, it affrights my soul to see thee thus." 

"But yesterday, dear Elfreide, though no cloud 
Of visible grief rose 'bove my horizon, 
I deem'd myself most wretched ; but O now, 
I would give worlds, were I as yesterday ! 
I've seen strange sights, have hied me where yon sun 



26 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Ne'er gave its blessed light, — where orgies dark — 
Thou turn'st away, dear love?" 

" Harald, thy words 
Freeze up my blood, — I cannot, will not hear. — 
Come to my parent's cot ; or, rather, go — 
Go thou to Drontheim, where thy absence grieves 
A mother, who now mourns thee lost ; — go where 
Friends, all who love thee, are most sad, because 
Of thy estrangement. Shun that fatal shore 
Where demon-voices mingle with the roar 
Of the vex'd ocean ; where the Lapland drum 
Blends with the night- blast." 

" I have left that home ;- 
This morn I left, or rather reach'd it then. 
O Elfreide, since, on yester-eve, yon sun 
Sank 'neath the wave, a brief of life hath been, — 
Nay is inscrib'd in fearful characters 
Here, — here within." 

" Is this then Harald, he 
Whose fearless bosom brav'd the fearful fiorht 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 27 

Of Esterdal, though then a boy, beside 
His glorious Father ! Harald, thou art o'ertask'd 
With nightly vigil ; — leave thy books, and go 
Into the walks of men. Th' Almighty asks 
Return from minds enkindled at the source 
Whence gifted natures e'er derive their light ; 
Their issues are in action ; for the soul 
Must merge in deeds beneficent, or else, 
Like a fell canker eat into itself." 

" My Elfreide, list, I have a tale for thee, 
Which thou must hear. Last night, by Lenthal's beach, 
I saw the Lapland harpies — that weird crew — 
Nay, visited their cave ; — thou tremblest, love." 

" Then, Harald, tell me all — I would know all ; — 
One joy, one woe, one destiny is ours." 

" Their task complete, each in a caldron dipp'd 
Her sinewy arm, and to her bleared eyes 
Applied the ointment, and straight fled the cave. 
I enter'd, did the same — for madness rul'd — 
When like a fever'd dream, in th' instant rose 



28 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

To my astonish'd view, a hidden world, 
Divested of its form and symmetry. 
And now this earth, this vaulted sky above. 
Are as it were but filmy shadows, whence 
Life, light, and beauty have for ever fled." 

" Harald, there is a light, before whose beam 
These shadows of thy now benighted soul 
Shall pass away ; as 'fore yon blessed sun 
Have fled the vapors of the mountain gorge. 

" Thou 'st sought the fount of truth in human lore ; — 
The beautiful in nature and in art 
Hath been revealed to thy favor'd breast. 
But deemest thou the stream of minstrelsy 
Shall quench the thirst of thy immortal part ? 
No, nothing short of Heaven can minister 
To the deep yearnings of the undying spirit. 
The dove of peace, whose outstretch'd wing hath pois'd 
O'er the dark wave of soul-submerging doubt, 
Can find a rest — where rest is only found. 
We will together hie to yonder glebe, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 29 

Where the ag'd father of his people bides 
Close to the spire of his lov'd minster ; — there, 
With one who has fronn youth to rev'rend eld 
Held conusance with pray'r and with his God, 
Shall we hold converse and communion sweet." 

Near where the mountain-torrent, over crag 
And fallen forest of gigantic growth. 
Impatient leaps to join the seaward Moa, 
Dwelt the sage Guisco. From Ausonian strand — 
The land of Petrarch, Dante, and Boccace — 
In early youth he sought Norwegian wilds. 
Bound on the blessed embassy of love. 

In leech-craft wise ; well skill'd to minister 
To ills which rack the flesh ; more skill'd to raise 
The falt'ring spirit, and to point to where 
The wanderer of earth can find repose. 

Fast by the trodden path of wayfarer, 
Hieing from Guldal to the distant hills. 
Or to the neighboring Drontheim, full in view. 
Stood forth his humble thatch ; and yet I ween, 



30 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Nor wanting was it in romantic charm, 

Or sylvan beauty. There the clust'ring elm, 

Woodbine, anemone, and hawthorn bright, 

And azale, which courts the northern blast. 

Hung round the holm, and wooed the inmate's gaze. 

There too, the missil-thrush, and woodlark shy. 
The throstle and the linnet lent their notes. 
And glanc'd at early morn from spray to spray ; 
Or 'neath the pent-roof thatch, screen'd from the blast 
Of the keen nightwind, gave their vesper-hymn. 
And sooth'd the tenant of the humble roof. 

High overhead the various-tinctur'd rock. 
With moisture trickling down its glist'ning slope, 
Upholds with its sharp cliff, or fissure deep. 
The berry-bearing ivy, eglantine, 
And many-color'd lichen ; while remote. 
Seen in the distance, as if motionless, 
Adown the deep ravine, the rushing brook 
Seems like a silvery ribbon, sportive hung 
Against the purple of the Dofrine's brow. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 31 

The sheltering porch and ground-sill'd lattice op'd 
On the broad pathway, as if welcoming 
The wearied pilgrim, or the tuneful Scald, 
Or Norland fisher, wayworn and forespent 
With nightly toil, amid the north-sea wave ; 
Or him who seeks for counsel for the ills 
Which bide earth's children. 

Guisco, even then, 
Clad in serge-tunic, with his palmer staff. 
Was issuing forth — bound for far eastern hills. 
With mutual hail and kindly greeting, such 
As to like natures are th' electric spark 
Pervading kindred beings, soon their souls 
Are fus'd in one ; and seated now, full soon, 
Harald, with faltering voice and troubled mien. 
Thus questions of what chief concern'd his state. 

" And what deem'st thou, sage Guisco, have the things 
Term'd sensible, which seem to th' outward eye. 
Presentments of the fair and beautiful 
Of nature and of art — have they a being — 



32 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Possess they truly a locality, 
Or are they phantoms — strangely conjur'd up. 
By some mysterious process of the spirit — 
A spirit formative of all which here 
Allure us on, and cheat us into life ?" 

To whom thus Guisco — lost in wonder long, 
While his clasp'd hands, resting upon his staff. 
Upholds his visage — whence, depending, flow'd 
His lengthen'd beard, in patriarchal guise. 

" From off this height, which looks o'er fiord and fell. 
Cast thy eye seaward, Harald, and behold 
On yonder wave, which to the noon-tide sun 
Lifts up its whiten'd crest, yon gallant bark. 
Shaping its course for Vineland's distant shore. 
See how she cleaves her way, like to a thing 
Instinct with life, tho' mountain billows rise. 
And adverse tempests overlay her path. 

" And why is this ? because in the blue heav'ns. 
At times the pilot sees yon orb of light ; 
And when night low'rs, beholds the starry host, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 33 

That lights the pole. And tho', midst seasons dark, 
Even these are shrouded from his outward sense, 
And terrors lurk around, like ambush'd foes ; — 
Yet, 'fore his eye of faith, the headland bright. 
Crowning with azure-peak the wave-girt isle. 
Rises to view. On this, and this alone 
His moral vision fastens ; and his soul. 
In fealty to what is here reveal'd, 
Has prelibation of a joy to come. 
And revels in the present. 

Thus, my son — 
Thus, like the iris-bow, exalting faith 
Rises to heaven, yet rests its arch on earth. 

" And he that treads this sun-encircling sphere, 
With soul attun'd to the rich symphonies, 
Which burst from all the creatures God hath made, — 
Whate'er of beautiful, sublime, or fair 
Salutes his sense — a revelation bright — 
Looks out upon a world, which lies around. 
And feels a world correlative within. 

3 



34 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Forth from the bosom's fount the current flows 
Of man's allotted bliss. True, it is fed 
By issues from above, pure, undefil'd, 
Life-giving ; — but the heart, with guilt perturb'd. 
Sends up its ooze ; and none but Him who once 
Still'd the strong tempest's rage, and bade it calm, 
Can clear that fount and make it bright again." 

" And what, sage Guisco, if things visible 
Give dissonance — not music to the soul ; 
Hold forth misshapen forms and semblances. 
Which cheat the sense, and turn this world within 
Into a chaos of distemper'd dreams ? 
Last night, on Lenthal's beach — " 

'' Harald, forbear,' 
Guisco exclaim'd ; " even now thy parent's lip 
Hath giv'n the purport of thy fever'd dream. 
These are the phantoms the distemper'd brain 
And craz'd affections conjure up. To him — 
The troubled king of Israel, fear-perturb'd, — 
Stood forth the seer, portraying to his sense 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 35 

Things that consorted with his troubled spirit. 

" The being 'thrall'd by doubt or dark dismay, 
Draws his own wizard-circle, where within. 
Thrust by his coward fears, he stands appall'd 
With will subdued and resolution crush'd. 
As if bound down by triple bars of steel. 

" The blessed One who visited this earth. 
Came not a disembodied Spirit here. 
But came a Being cloth'd with attributes. 
Which b'long to man — and here gave evidence. 
Both by his ministry and works of love. 
That Heav'n demands return for talent given. 
— And whilst thou findest thou canst interfuse 
Thy moral life-blood in a kindred being, 
In this or future age, woulds't thou apart. 
Brood o'er the visions of thy sickly brain. 
Or look to Heaven for aid, and bravely do V 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL 



PART II. 

'Tis night ; — a chieftain in the Danish garb 
Leaps from his skiff, moor'd closely to the shore, 
Upon the crag of Hevne's lonely strand. 
A soldier in attire, and yet he bears 
Within his belt the pilgrim's scallop-shell, 
While o'er his shoulder floats a sable scarf. 
From which his scrip and cimbric harp depend. 
His shallops ride at anchor in the cove. 



38 ELFREIDEOFGULDAL. 

Screen'd by the lofty cliff, high beetling o'er, 
From sight of inland wand'rer at that hour, 
Who at the glimpse of foeman's craft or sail, 
Had spread alarm throughout Norwegian wilds. 

Along the rock-girt shore, the sharp-prow'd skiff, 
Toss'd by the surge, is tenantless, save where 
The osprey and the vulture fierce contend 
With the loud watch-dog. 

On the ocean-skirt, 
The herring-fisher, midst the Froen sea. 
Hurling his net. stands out in bright relief. 
Lit by the polar blaze, far stretching out 
Against the Dofrine's height. From time to time, 
As the long mesh, fraught with its finny spoil. 
Moves through the deep, the moor-ild flashing up. 
Gives forth a sea of fire, wild issuing forth 
In bright effulgence from the weltering deep. 

And see, he climbs the steep, clears the deep gorge. 
Bounds with impatient step o'er shelving rocks. 
And gains the flowery turf; where, 'fore his step, 



ELFllEIDE OF GULDAL. 39 

The lev'ret starts, surpris'd with visitant 
At an unwonted hour ; and falcon, perch'd / 
Upon the oaken-bough, watching his prey, 
Shoots with wide-spreading wing into the dell. 

His front bespeaks one wont to lead the way 
In perilous strife and deed of hardihood. 
His stature noble ; — with determin'd tread 
He climbs the swelling knolls ; — and now within 
The silent vale of Guldal — sleeping calm 
Beneath the moonbeam of a summer-night, 
Follows the winding of its beauteous stream. 

'Tis Sigurd of Aarhuus, who with his sire 
Led forth the Danish host at Esterdal. 
Made captive by brave Haco, they receiv'd 
Beneath the chieftain's roof that courtesy. 
The gentle valiant can alone extend 
To the brave vanquish'd. There, the stripling chiefs, 
But yesterday opposed in fight, forgot 
Their mutual feud ; confederate now in sport, 
In joust, in vent'rous chase ; or, when the nighi 



40 ELFE.EIDE OF GULDAL. 

Had shut out all those spirit-stirring scenes, 
Which prompt the impulse of gay, buoyant youth,- 
Some saga wild, whose soul-exciting theme 
Was of the vy-king's deeds, or foray bold 
Of Norseman on the far Northumbrian strand ; 
Or rite of Lapland witch, or Finnish seer, 
Employ'd full well the hour. 

And now the theme 
Was of the kraaken huge, by shipman seen, 
Rolling in spiral fold, outstretching far, 
Like isle emergent from the briny deep. 

Anon, the converse rous'd to bolder mood, 
Kindling within the breast high swelling hope 
Of bold emprise ; telling of him, the great, 
The glorious Wallace, who but late stood forth 
For Scotia's rights, 'gainst the Plantagenet. 
And of the Bruce, who prov'd at Bannockburn 
That though the patriot perish, yet his blood, — 
Far more prolific than the seed of earth, — 
Like dragon teeth, sow'd in his country's soil. 



ELFllEIDE OF GULDAL. 41 

Gives forth a Cadmean host of kindred souls. 

And thus the night wax'd late, while on the hearth, 
The blazing fir-iire o'er baronial hall, 
Where hung the escutcheons of a by-gone race, 
Flash'd with uncertain light, and gave the hour 
A shadowy spell, that quicken'd fancy more. 

'Twas then in Guldal's vale that Sigurd saw 
The maid, who held in thrall young Harald's breast ; 
And in that kindly intercourse of soul, 
Which prompts ingenuous natures, he had heard 
From Harald's own impassion'd lips of her 
In whom his hopes were centred — and had learn'd 
One mutual love had seal'd their destiny. 
— He saw, and in his breast a passion rose. 
Which wrong'd his friend ; for no ennobling aim 
Exalted Sigurd's nature. Even then, 
The germ of perfidy inwrought, conceiv'd 
That purpose, which long years had caus'd to bud. 

Full soon the captives for the Cimbrian shore 
Gladly made sail ; for gen'rous Haco now 

3* 



42 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

V 

No ransom ask'd, — claiming as future guests 
Whom his roof shelter'd, and his board receiv'd. 
Eager they leap'd forth on their natal soil, 
Where joyous vassals greeted their return. 

Years pass'd — yet intervening seasons serv'd 
To nurse in Sigurd's breast th' ignoble flame, 
And prompt ungen'rous schemes. Th' occasion soon 
Dawn'd on the night of his perfidious thought — 
Like beacon-light ; and his aspiring hope 
Bounded towards the fair Norwegian spoil, 
And felt it in his grasp ; — for Eric now, 
Who sway'd the Danish sceptre, burn'd t' efface 
The shame of Esterdal ; and pointed where 
Drontheim's proud tow'rs frown'd o'er the fiord of Nide. 

And gladly Sigurd seized the proffer given. 
To lead the Cimbri forth to northern shores ; 
And soon the armament with hoisted sail, 
Wafted by favoring breeze, bounds o'er the wave, 
And eager press for Scandia's rock-girt coast. 

As near'd the fleet at eve the well-known fiord, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Instant the thought flash'd home on Sigurd's soul — 
And his impatient spirit grasp'd the thought — 
Even then amidst the shadows of the night. 
To learn if Guldal's valley yet possess'd 
The object of his mission, — the fair flower 
Whom he would bear in triumph to his home. 
Lo, as his agile tread, with the rapt thought, 
As is the wont, keeps pace, before his eye 
A strangely lurid mist, lit by the moon — 
Now hurrying thro' the heav'ns, comes sweeping on 
Afore the breeze of night, towards the shore, 
Adown the vale, and overthwart his path. 
Onward it moves ; and now full near, behold 
Flimsy and shadowy forms, whose visages 
Swart and unearthly, sinistrous and wild, 
Consort with the dread hour ; their garments wide 
Float on the night- wind ; as the north-sea scud, 
Seen by the affrighted fisher, sweeping on 
Before the tempest. Then, with one consent. 
Each lifts her arm, and with sepulchral voice, 



44 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

" Sigurd of Aarhuus, stay thee, ere too late ; 
Or woe betide thee on Norwegian strand !" 

" Away, ye hell-brood !" shouts the furious Dane, 
While his high-throbbing heart and pallid brow 
Confess, that even Sigurd stands appall'd, — 
" Away, or this good steel shall tell thee soon. 
Ye croaking hags of night, whom thou would'st daunt." 

'• Rash braggart boy, put up thy weapon, which 
Cleaves the air idly ; — hark ! we tell thee, Dane, 
Ere morrow's sun shall set, thou'lt need its proof, 
Where arms shall hurtle." 

" Harpies, — hence — away." 
" Nay Sigurd, — boast not ; — lo, we tell thee, Dane, 
A woman's scarf, waved to the breeze, ere long, 
Like lightning-scath, shall overthrow thy host, 
E'en as these shreds we rend ; — beware — beware !" 

Scarce had they said, when from their shrivell'd lips 
Issued a deaf 'ning yell, and then with shriek 
Like to the owlet's fearful screech, they flee, 
As a dark vapor on the winds of night. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 45 

The cot is reached ; — a fairy bovver, enclos'd 
Jn bosky dell, encompass'd all around 
With treillage of bright clasping columbine. 
The restless aspen and the tassel 'd beech, 
Sway'd by the night-breeze, turn their trembling leaves 
To the cold moonbeam ; while the silv'ry Moa, 
Winding its gentle current, murmurs by. 
And gives its vespers to the stars o'erhead. 

A wand'ring scald, benighted in the vale, 
Foredone with length of way and pilgrimage. 
Asks for a lodge. The aged mother hears 
The minstrel's plea, renews th' expiring blaze. 
Spreads the neat board, — then shows the pallet near. 

Meanwhile he proffers to fair Elfreide's ear 
A saga wild, of hap or battle done 
In distant age, on Neustria's strand afar. 
Lo ! as with sinewy arm uplift, he grasps 
The gilded harp, his cloak disparting shows 
Beneath its folds a warrior's garb. The maid 
Instant beholds, restrains her rising fear ; 



46 ELFK,EIDE OF GULDAL. 

" Minstrel," she says, " thy cloak and accent tell 
Thee of the Cimbric race ; how is't, that thou. 
Amidst these valleys, pliest the scaldic art, 
And with our gifted bards contend'st in song ?" 

Fronn off his brow, till now half hid, he lifts 
The fur-clad bonnet. Elfreide straight, beholds 
The well known features of the treacherous Dane. 

" Sigurd, is't thou ? at this unwonted hour, 
And in this guise, which shows no friendly part, 
Seek'st thou an entrance in our cottage home ?" — 

" Elfreide, 'tis no mean errand brings me here ; 
Sigurd of Aarhuus kneels before that one. 
Who holds in thrall his being. O, then list, — 
List, maid of Guldal ; turn not thou away 
From him, whom years of absence far from thee. 
Have made the more thy captive. 'Tis the suit 
Of one whose happ'ness is at thy behest. 
From Denmark's king on embassy, I come 
To seek thee, Elfreide, and conduct thee hence. 
Honor and royal favor, — courtly dome 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 47 

Await thee, maiden, born to deck a throne." 

"And com'st thou thus, O Sigurd, to prefer 
Thy suit, and at this hour ?" the maid replies ; 
For well her thoughts devise, his mission there 
Portended ill to Norway. " With a fleet 
Of twice ten ships, a num'rous gallant crew, 
Now riding in the Nide, hither I come, 
In fealty to her whose word is life." 

" Is it a proof of knighthood, at this hour, — 
When Norway holds alliance with thy king, 
Resting in faith upon a solemn league ; — 
Wouldst thou, at this still hour, basely invade 
A city sleeping in the arms of peace 1 
Dreading no stratagem, or fierce assault 
From coward- foe, who shuns the light of day ; 
And on the fold, steals like the prowling wolf! — 
At least, would'st woo me as a hero, Sigurd." 

" Thou wrong'st me, Elfreide ; Sigurd wars not thus ; 
We shall do battle in the eye of day. 
But I would shield thee, Elfreide, from the shock 



48 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Which bides to-morrow's sun, and place thee, where 
Honor and def rence shall attend." 

" Not so," 
Elfreide replies, while in her crimson'd cheek, 
Determin'd eye, and firm erected mien, 
The soul heroic of old Norway speaks. 
" Not so ; for honor, life, and every hope. 
All have their issues in my country ! Nay, 
Unhand me, Sigurd ! — hence, depart, — or now 
Guldal shall wake, and thou escapest not." 

There is a heav'n-imparted effluence, 
A panoply of light to virtue given. 
Which when it speaks out from a woman's soul. 
Comes forth in utt'rance like an angel-voice. 
Appalling and arresting brutal force. 

This Sigurd feels, when with astounded look 
At what seems more than mortal prowess, he, 
Like the foil'd tiger, baffl'd of his prey, 
Mutt'ring revenge, reluctantly retires. 

'Tis midnight past ; the winds are up, and fast 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 49 

The cloud-rack from the mountain summit scuds 
Athwart the vale, and hoarse the forest roars. 
With strength wrought up by fearful consciousness, 
That Drontheim's fate — her more than life — was pois'd 
Upon the issues of that awful night, — 
Wrapp'd in her mantle, lo she rushes forth, 
Clad in the strength of Heav'n-directed might. 

Her woman's heart beats quick, but yet the soul 
Gives to her fragile form th' elastic spring 
Of mountain antelope. Lit by the light 
Of an uncertain moon, and silv'ry sheen 
Of vap'ry rifts, she seeks the river's bank. 
Frees the light skiff, quick shoots the placid Moa, 
And now is pressing on for Drontheim's towers. 

Nor does she bide the time, but with shrill voice. 
That makes the mountain-echoes give response, 
" Wake ye," she cries. " Ye Norsemen ! on the coast 
The foeman rides ; — they make for Drontheim's walls." 

And now on Selhoe, the signal flame 
Lights up the Dofrine's snowy height, whose peak 



50 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Gives back the light on dark ravine and dell. 
Frosten and Stranded, Stenwick — even the isles 
Of distant Froen answer with their fires, 
Whose blaze reflected, tells the pirate foe, 
Norway is up, with heart and weapon true ! 

The citadel is reach'd, reposing calm. 
Like the lone sea-bird on the northern wave, 
Not deeming of the ice-floe hov'ring nigh, — 
But at the voice of Elfreide, it awakes. 
Loud sounds the well-known bugle o'er the hills, 
Echoing among the vales and dark ravines. 
Burgher and huntsman, even he who plies 
His craft upon the fiord — all, all are up. 
The forester and herdsmam, stripling and aged 
Are buckling on, and answei'ing to the call. 
— Harald is there and doing ; — quick he flies 
From rank to rank, giving, receiving cheer 
From hearts responsive ; but the fearful thought 
Of Elfreide lone, far from her cottage-home, 
Leads him to seek her, ere he takes the field. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 51 

Encircled by a youthful band, she stands — 
A seraph sent to rescue, — and imparts 
To her aged parent at her side, led there 
By followers sent, a soul-sustaining faith, 
That He who to a people thus imparts 
Assurance firm, will give the victory. 

But hark ! in distance faintly heard, the sound 
Of mountain-bugle wakes the echoing vale ; 
And louder yet the pealing notes ascend ; 
Till from afar, as if in meet array. 
Is heard the tramp of coursers, hast'ning on. 
Selhoe's hill-top now gives forth to view 
A squadron dense, with banner floating wide, 
Speeding towards the glen ; until full near, 
The neigh of steed, and shout of martial host, 
Call forth new ardor in each Norseman's soul, 
Hast'ning from glen and dingle far and near. 
With greetings loud they cheer : 

" Flail ! Harald, hail ! 
We seek thee, son of Haco, — lo, the Dane 



52 ELFREIDEOFGULDAL. 

With twice ten sail, make for the fiord, and rear 
On the tall mast the raven-gonfalon ! 
For Drontheim's tow'rs they steer. We follow, where 
The battle waits." 

Quickly he turns, beholds 
His Elfreide pale, yet firm, with soul prepared. 
" Heav'n gives thee vict'ry, Harald," lo, she cries, 
" Look thou to Heav'n for aid, and bravely do." 
Were the bless'd words thou heard'st from Guisco's lips. 
I go not home. From Melhuus' hill, these eyes 
Shall see the conflict ; and, victorious there. 
Behold thy banner wave, where Scandia's arm 
Drives back these Danish wolves." 

One short embrace — 
No more ; — he dons the proffer'd casque and mail, 
Grasps Haco's weapon, plac'd within his hand. 
And with his gallant comrades seeks the foe. 

Full soon they meet, — for on the rocky shore. 
From the black ships leap forth the eager Dane, 
Form the array, and with a shout press on. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 53 

A chieftain leads, of lofty form and port, 
With helm and cuirass panoplied, and fierce 
Points with his spear to Drontheim's distant spires. 

" Sigurd of Aarhuus," is the signal cry, 

" Sigurd of Aarhuus," shout they in reply ; 
And clash their arms and raise the yell. The clang 
Of Cimbrian drum and trumpet swell on high, 
As on they press to seize the profFer'd spoik 

Down rush, with deafening shout, the fiery host 
Of Norway's chivalry ; 'tis Harald leads, 
'Tis Harald's voice which gives the signal-word, 
'Tis Harald's eagle eye that points the way. 
And nerves each breast with that assurance, e'er 
The presage of success or glorious death ! 

But then 'tis Dane that grapples with the Norse ; 
Here all is peril'd on the issue, — there 
'Tis conquest, or an ignominious death. 

As tow'ring icebergs 'midst the Arctic deep, 
Driven by polar tempest, meet and crash 
With force terrific — so to together rush 



54 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Th' infuriate combatants. 

But see, afar, 
On Melhuus' summit is a woman's form, 
Who seems to give her pennon to the breeze. 
Is she of earth ? or is't a visitant 
From fields of light, on blessed mission sent — 
The tutelary saint of Norway's shore ? 

Aloft in aiiithe sky-woof'd tissue floats ; — 
Harald beholds, and with triumphant shout. 
That strikes a terror in the adverse host, 
Points with his sword to where his Elfreide stands. 

The Danes, fear-stricken, see an angel-one 
Lighted on earth, for Norway's rescue sent ; 
They turn, they fly to reach their stranded barks. 
In vain does Sigurd raise his war-note high. 
And rally for the fight, and desp'rate cleave 
The fugitives to earth. 

" Recreants," he shouts, 
" Redeem the flight, and vict'ry still is ours ; 
Turn ye and die ! would meet a coward's grave ? 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 5 

Sigurd of Aarhuus ! on — for Denmark, on !" 

" Harald of Norway greets," a warrior shouts ; 
" Here, Sigurd, here is quarry for thy steel." 

" Thou'rt welcome, Harald, we shall seal the day. 
Yet — as erewhile thy guest — as one whose board 
Sigurd hath shar'd, he wars not with thee, Harald ; — 
Another arm shall meet the sword thou wield'st." 

" Then as thy liege and lord in former feud — 
Since unredeem'd we gave thee to thy home — 
We charge thee, Sigurd, yield thee. Thou shalt find, 
Whom thou hast deeply wrong'd, again can pardon." 

" Battle gives conquest and not suzerainty," 
Sigurd replies ; — " but were it as thou say'st, 
The vassal who, and who the suzeraine-chief, 
Since thou wilt have it so, this very hour 
The cast of battle shall decide ; — the deed 
Of violated plight," 

" Sigurd, is thine," 
The son of Haco answers. " Durst thou speak 
Of violated plight, who yesternight — 



56 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

As wand'ring scald benighted in the vale — 

Sought even then to seize a precious prize, 

Whom all thy sov'reign's treasures cannot purchase ?" 

" Then as thou listest," Sigurd fierce returns, 
" Or thou or I shall rue it ; here's to thee." 
He said, and clos'd in fight, and bleeding falls 
'Neath the red sword of glorious Haco's son. 

'Tis now that Norway's vengeance rises high, 
And cleaves the fugitives to earth ; — in vain 
They rally for the fight ; death meets them there ; — 
None reach the shore ; the few give up the strife. 
And yield them captive to the victor host. 

For Drontheim march, tho' slow, the conquerors, 
Cumber'd with dead and wounded, whom they bear 
On hurdles, where their vestments spread, afford 
To those who live, repose ; — all turn to where 
The guardian genius of the day once stood. 
And gave the victory ; and Melhuus' steep 
Receives the fealty of grateful hearts. 
With banner, sword, and spear waving aloft, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 57 

Thrice does the cheer e'en from the suff'rers rise, 
For " Elfreide ! Elfreide ! angel of the fight !" 

It is a festal day ; the villagers 
From glen and valley throng ; and every copse 
And mountain dell, and neighb'ring ocean-cliff, 
Pours forth its tenants ; — ^joy shines forth in all ; — 
The vet'ran chief and hardy mountaineer 
Blend salutations ; while around, on high. 
The welkin rings with blessings and acclaim 
Of aged father ; and the unhoused dame, 
The gay-coiff'd lass, the stripling, and the churl. 
Priest, pedler, boor, fantastic mountebank. 
All press for Drontheim ; where the pageant rite 
Awaits the conquerors, now entering 
Beneath triumphal arch the portal wide. 

From castellated dome and minster-spire, 
Norwegian banners float upon the breeze ; — 
And, as the martial pageant wends its way 
Through the dense mass, array'd on either hand, 
In motley costume or in sober garb, 



58 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Matron and maid, and lovely childhood, strew. 
From arms outstretch'd, athwart the warriors' path, 
Flowers of bright hue and garlands freshly wrought. 

And now way-worn, in weary plight, they reach 
Drontheim's embattled towers, whose vestibule. 
Replete with vet'ran chiefs and sages grave, 
Awaits their entrance. But why stands aghast, 
With horror-stricken brow, the youthful chief? 
What sight transforms, as scath'd with lightning-shaft, 
The port of valor into craven fear ? — 

'Tis she, the Hecate of yesternight — 
To his enchanted sight alone reveal'd ; 
Bearing the semblance of a crippled dame 
To other eyes around. — With gasping dread, 
See how his falcon-gaze is fixed on hers, 
'Like the charm'd bird within'the cursed thrall 
O' the deadly viper, coiling to inflict 
His venom'd fang ; — when lo, from basket-store. 
Into the air she hurls what seems to be 
OfF'ring of grateful incense to the brave. 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 69 

Full on his temple falls the fragrant spoil ; 
When in an instant, — O bless'd instant, fraught 
With joy unspeakable — from off his soul 
Falls the dark shroud of grief, as darkness flies 
Before the uprisen morn. 

The calenture 
Of the craz'd brain, and woe-surcharged breast 
I' th' instant's gone ; and the full tide of life 
Makes its bright way, like to the mighty gush 
Of torrent, sweeping the opposing mound. 
As the bold eagle from his eyrie-peak, 
Thro' heaven's pure ether cleaves his sunward course, — 
So doth the soaring spirit upward mount. 
And all again is redolent of hope. 

But where is she — his Elfreide — guardian sprite 
Of his existence — of the conflict past 
Blest arbitress, as though on mission sent 
From realms above, to light his soul in this ? 

Lo ! 'neath a canopy, in rural state, 



60 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

On sylvan throne of ilex, intertwined 
With fresh -cuU'd eglantine and mountain ash, 
And bright arbutus, and each flower that loves 
The brief embrace of Norway's summer-sun, 
She sits in regal hall — while noble dames, 
Flower-cinctur'd virgins, rang'd on either hand, 
Await the pageant of the warriors near, 
And their grave senator and aged sire. 
And Jarl and lordly thane, and vet'ran chief. 
Do homage to the maid of Guldal's vale. 
Aloft, the Runic scalds in order plac'd. 
With brow enwreath'd, give forth the bardic-strain. 
And tell the deeds of those, who well have prov'd 
That Norway still is rife with hearts allied 
To the great chieftains, who in climes afar 
Had made the Moslem crescent to wax pale, 
And stemm'd the surge of Saracenic might. 
But chief to her — the lightning of whose soul. 
Kindling new ardor in each patriot breast, 



ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 61 

Sped its bright sliaft within the Cimbric host — 
The symphony of grateful spirits rose. 

So in her darkest hour, when 'fore the Gaul, 
The Curule Fathers of their country bowed, — 
Amidst the sacred fane of Cserss's grove. 
The vestal fire of Rome burn'd brightly on, 
Fed by th' untiring faith of woman's love. 

" They come, they come ! raise high the martial strain, 
Awake your silvery chant, ye virgin band ! 
Bugle and harp, send forth your gleeful notes. 
And let the mountain-echoes speak again. 

Behold the chieftain ! With one loud acclaim 
The dome resounds ; — when thus the aged Jarl : 
" Hail, noble warriors ! and all hail to thee. 
Brave Harald, who hast led these conqu'rors forth ! 
But, chief, I bid thee hail, that thou hast won 
A nobler guerdon than these trophied-spoils 
Now borne in triumph by thy gallant band ; — 
'Tis she whom Heaven has sent to bless our land. 



62 ELFREIDE OF GULDAL. 

Thy chiefest glory is, that such a heart 
Has liv'd to bless and triumph over thine. 
Receive and wear then, as thy richest boon, 
The flower of Guldal—Elfreide of Melhuus !" 



N T E S 



" Shun the fatal shore, 
Where demon voices mingle with the roar 
Of the vex'd ocean." Page 26. 

" Solent quoque nocturne viatores, gregumque et armentoruni 
excubiis intenti, portentis diversi generis eircumfuncli. Velut Hothe- 
rus Rex (Reste Saxone) tres Nymphas ad earum antra secutus, vic- 
torias zonam et cingulum impetravit. Quandoque vero sultum adeo 
profiinde in terrain imprimunt, quod locus cui assueverant, insigni 
ardore orbiculariter peresus, non parit arenti redivivum cespite gra- 
men. Hunc nocturnum monstrorum ludum vocant incolse choream 
Elvarum : de quibus cum habent opinionem, quod animi eorum homi- 
num, qui se corporeis voluptatibus dedunt, earum que quasi ministros 
se preebent, impulsuique libidinum obediunt, ac divina et humana 
jura violant, corporibus elapsi circum terram ipsam volutantur. 



64 NOTES. 

Equorum credunt eos esse, qui se adhuc nostro seculo in effigie hu- 
mana accommodare solent ministeriis hominum, noctnrnis horis 
laborando, equosque et jumenta curando, ut infra de ministerio dae- 
monum hoc eodem libro ostendetur." — Olai Magni Gentium Sep- 
tentrisnalium Hist. Brevi. Ed. Amsiel. Cap. x.,p. 88. 



" Where the Lapland drum 
Blends with the night blast." Page 26. 

" This they do with a certain instrument which they call kannus, 
not unlike the old-fashioned drums, from whence they are usually 
called Laplandish drums. This drum being beaten, and some songs 
sung, ihey bring the designed sacrifice to Thor. — Shefferus' Hist, 
of Lapland, p. 42. 



"Bound on the blessed embassy of love." 

Pa&e 29. 
The Norwegians svere converted to Christianity about the be- 
ginning of the 11th century. This was, however, pretty much that 
kind of conversion which Charlemagne effected with the Saxons, in 
which the baptismal font or the sword was the alternative. "Ecce 
ilia ferocissima Danorum sive Nortmannorum aut Sueonum natio, 
quae, juxta beati Gregorii verba, nihil aliud scivit nisi barbarum fren- 
dere, jamdudum novit in Dei laudibus Alleluia resonare. Ecce pop- 



NOTES. 65 

ulus ille piraticus, ^ quo tolas dim Gailiarum et Germanise provin- 
cias legimus depopulatas, suis nunc finibus contentus est." — Hist. 
Gotthor, Vand., and Langoh., ah Hugone Grotio,p. 108. 



" Shaping its course for Vineland's distant shore." 

Page 32. 
" We have thus seen that the old Icelandic Sagas state expli- 
citly that colonies of Northmen existed on the shores of Greenland 
from the close of the tenth to the beginning of the fifteenth century. 
From that period, to the middle of the last century, nothing more 
was heard of them, and those who had not read the original docu- 
ments, and been convinced from the internal evidence afforded by 
the simplicity and truthfulness of the narrative that they dealt with 
facts, and not with fiction, might reasonably doubt their testimony, 
and, by analogical reasoning, that of the Sagas in general. The 
Runic inscriptions, and the numerous vestiges of the former colo- 
nies, scattered along the east coast of Baffin's Bay, are therefore 
doubly interesting and important ; for they not only confirm, in the 
most striking manner, the authenticity of the Sagas relating to 
Greenland, but warrant the conclusion that those which tell us, in 
the same artless manner, of the discovery of the American continent, 
are equally trustworthy, though their statements have not as yet been 
confirmed by the same kind of palpable evidence." — Mallet's 
Northern Antiquities, p. 249-50. 
4* 



66 



" The moor -ild flashing up. 
Gives forth a sea of fire." Page 38. 

*• Proceeding from an agitation of the salt water in a dark night, 
which hath been every year observed by the herring-fishermen, when 
towing their nets along in a calm ; for the sea appears in a kind of 
flame, as far as the nets reach." — Pontopfedan's Norway, p. 5, P. 
I, Chap. 1. 



"And now the theme 
Was of the Kraaken huge, by shipman seen 
Boiling in spiral fold." Page 40. 

See PONTOPPEDAN. 

" Sunt monstrosi pisces in lettoribus seu mari Norvegico, inusitati 
nominis, licet reputentur de genere caetorum, qui immanitatem suam 
primo aspectu ostendunt, horroremque intuentibus incutiunt, tum in 
formidinem diutius conspicientes pariter et stuporem vertunt." — 
Olai Mag., Gent. Sept., p. 456. 



"Lo, the Dane, 
With twice ten sail, make for the fiord." Page 51. 
" News came from the Southland, that the people of Hordaland 
and Rogaland, Agder and Phelmark, were gathering and bringing 



NOTES. 67 

together ships and weapons and a great body of men. The leader 
of this was Eric, king of Hordaland. Now when Harald got cer- 
tain news of this, he assembled his forces, set his ships on the water, 
made himself ready with his men, and set out southward along the 
coast, gathering many people from every district. The whole met 
together at Jeddern and went into Hafursfiord. A great battle be- 
gan, which was both hard and long, but at last King Harald gained 
the day. There King Eric fell," &c. So says Hornklofe ; 

" Has the news reached you 1 Have you heard 
Of the great fight at Hafursfiord 
Between our noble king brave Harald ?" &c. 

Heimshringla. 



S E M A E L . 



SEMAEL 



Thy wave, internal sea, wherever named — 
Levantine, or Ionian, or Tyrrhene — 
Stretching far on, from Calpe, olive-crown'd. 
To the dark Syrian or Egyptian strand ; 
Or flowing northward t'ward Europa's shore, 
Laving the soil of Hellas or Ausonia ; — 
Thy wave, were it but voic'd, could open up 
A tale of eld, hid in the womb of night. 
Which nought of Delphic lore, or Orphean hymn, 
Or song of Ascrean bard, hath e'er reveal'd. 
'Twas o'er thy waters look'd Semael forth 



72 S E M A E L . 

In the deep noon of night, from off the cliff 
Of steep Alaya, frowning o'er the sea ; 
Rolling 'twixt Syrian and Cilician coast. 

From youth to manhood, manhood to old age, 
Semael's days had flow'd serenely on ; 
His night was giv'n to pray'r or vigil lone ; 
Morn sent him forth on daily pilgrimage, 
But to no canoniz'd earth-stricken saint, 
Or precious relic of a by-gone age, — 
'Twas human welfare claim'd his anxious breast ; — 
Where suff'ring man was, there deem'd he the shrine 
Of Him, who walk'd the earth ; of Him who bore 
The penal woes of all. The lowly cell, 
Palladian palace, or the sod-built cot. 
Found him a willing and a welcome guest. 
Or, in the rear of battle-field, where death 
Strode with gigantic stride, and carnage wild 
Deluged the plain with slaughter — there was he. 
Where the crusader and the painim strove 
In deadly conflict, till the sun went down 



S E M A E L . 73 

In blood ; a tutelary spirit there ; — 
Moist'ning the burning lip with cooling draught, 
From fount or brook ; stemming life's gushing tide, 
Pouring the oil and wine, pillowing the brow 
Upon his aged breast ; and pointing where 
The burden'd soul alone can find relief. 

But now full fourscore years have blench'd his brow ; 
So that his few spar'd locks, like to the flake, 
Which crowns the neighb'ring Taurus, show that time 
Has well now fill'd his record of good deeds, 
And giv'n him passport for eternity. 

In his lone skyward cell, which crowns the cliff 
That beetles o'er the sea ; while the pale lamp, 
Low pendent from the roof, scarcely illumes 
The sacred page ; he plies th' inspir'd theme, 
Which plumes his hope, like a bright seraph-wing, 
Toward the heav'n he sought. Anon he lifts 
His pale but placid brow from off the scroll ; 
Looks out upon the night. The moon has ris'n 
Above the hill of Eastern Lebanon, 



74 S E M A E L . 

Which throws its shadow on the dark blue wave ; 
And yet so bright, so glorious is her beam, 
That palm and fir, and olive, stand reliev'd 
In the bright heavens beyond. On that vast sea, 
O'er whose wide waters roves his hazed eye, 
The fleet of mighty nations, now no more. 
Whose very names have scarcely reachM his age. 
Had rode in triumph. The Phoenician there, 
Nearing the Sunium, where, in after age, 
Athena's glorious fane, like vestal fair. 
In spotless robe, look'd down upon the sea, 
Cheering the wanderer o'er the iEgean deep, — 
Bore on to favor'd Greece the letter'd spoil. 
Which gave to speech a semblance, and to thought 
An omnipresent and enduring being. 

And there the Egyptian queen, who led enthrall'd 
In love's soft blandishment, Rome's conqueror, 
Sail'd on in state, a sovereign of the wave. 
In barge which sham'd the dolphin's golden pride, 
Another Amphitrite. And there too. 



S E M A E L . 75 

The vanquish'd mistress, fleeing from the fight 

Of Actium, led th' ignoble Antony, 

Partner in shame, in flight — and one in death. 

But now, nor thought of strife or passion, mars 
The peaceful brow of him, upon whose breast 
Far gentler, holier influences fall. 
As fall the moonbeams on the tranquil waves 
Which stretch far onward. The felucca there, 
With lateen-sail, seen in th' horizon-skirt, 
Shaping its course t'ward the Egyptian shore, 
Gives to the moon the silv'ry foam, which breaks 
'Gainst the sharp keel, and tracks the wave with light ; 
While just beneath him bounds the lighter skiff 
With bird-like speed ; and, darting to the shore. 
Lowers its white sail, and moors its painted prow 
Close to the cliff. Disporting in the sheen 
Of glorious night, which orient clime alone 
Doth witness, the sweet-voic'd nightingale 
Sends up her plaining note ; while from afar 
The varied sound of sea-bird, or the howl 



76 S E M A E L . 

Of distant mastiff, or the lashing surge, 

Come o'er the soul like some bewildering spell. 

•' Scroll of past ages,*' thus Semael speaks, 
" As flash thy billows 'neath the beam of night, 
Methinks I read upon thy surging waves 
The transcript of the past. Upon thy marge 
Empires have grasp'd at spoils, as perishable 
As weeds upon the sea-shore, eager sought 
Of sportive childhood. Yet, upon thy shores 
Science was cradled, art unfolded all 
Of symmetry and grace, as fabled once 
Of Aphrodite risen from thy foam. 
But O, thy chiefest glory, wondrous sea, 
Thou lav'st the steep of yon blest Palestine, 
Where rose that Sun with healing on his wings, 
Which shall illume this earth's remotest verge. 
O'er thy wide waters went his heralds forth, — 
The favor'd messengers of light and life, 
To nations yet unborn ; and Europe now 
Risen from the grave of empires, shall repay 



SEMAEL. 77 

For light received, a glorious recompense. 

" Thy poetry, O night, when stars look down 
From the blue depths of heaven, on a sea 
Of calm-reposing waters — giving back 
In mimic pageant, from their crisped wave, 
Another firmament of kindred stars. 
Which there reflected, seem like spirits fall'n, 
Reverting to the source from whence they fell ; — 
Thy poetry, O night, is beautiful — 
Seen as thou art in widow'd loveliness, 
In weeds of mourning, — weeping 'midst thy dews. 
For a world 'reft of Him, earth's first espous'd. 
When angels dwelt with man, and man with God." 

Once more Semael seeks the sacred page. 
Ere sleep weighs down his eyelids, and sets free 
The spirit, loos'd from thraldom of the sense. 
Joyous he holds sweet converse with bright beings, 
Beatific visitants from realms, where sin 
And sorrow come not, — giving here below 
Rich antepast of heav'n — fruition blest, 



78 S E M A E L . 

Which only disembodied seraphs know. 

So the bold mountain bird, with sunward gaze, 
Thro' wint'ry tempests, seeks its rock-girt home, 
Mounts from its eyrie, and with outstretch'd plume. 
Soars far above the threat'ning whirlwind's sway. 
The torrent's rush, or lui'id lightning's scath ; — 
Far, far on high, amidst th' ethereal vault — 
The bright Cerulean — with determin'd wing, 
He cleaves the fields of ether, and sails on. 
Full on his vision beams the glorious orb, — 
Yet with unblenching eye, he onward mounts, 
Still onward, and still onward ; nor to earth 
Turns back his gaze, till lost amidst the blaze 
Of light celestial — earth has disappear'd. 

But lo, a form before his fearful gaze, 
Of stature far surpassing man ! his brow, 
Cinctur'd with night-shade, reaches the arch'd dome, 
Whence beams the flick'ring lamp. His visage grave, 
Bespeaking peace, benignity, and love, — 
Such as angelic natures wont to have, — 



S E M A E I, . 79 

Dispels the terrors of Semael's breast, 

And speaks him bound on embassy of peace. 

Yet from his full-orb'd vision, issues forth 

Unearthly radiance — such as overhead, 

The moon emergent from some dark-rob'd cloud, 

Throws out upon the night. With outstretch'd arm. 

He lifts his starry mantle ; then with hand 

Uprais'd, yet objectless, pointing to nought, 

Save the blue vault without, he speaks with voice 

As hymning night-wind thro' the tufted boughs 

Of the dark fir, beneath night's silvery ray : 

" Semael, thou canst read an embassy 
Which comes to all, — him thron'd in regal state, 
The houseless wand'rer, and the dungeon-slave : 

Emasser, I the messenger of death ! 

But not in me seest thou that phantom dark, 
That hideous spectre, arm'd with dart to strike. 
As pictur'd to the terror-stricken breast 
Of him, the slave of sin ;• — the envoy I 
Of peace and joy to such as thee on earth. 



80 S E M A E L . 

Ere three short moons shall wane beyond yon hills, 
Thou, son of earth, shalt end thy pilgrimage, 
And slumber with thy fathers. 'Tis because 
Of a long life, in charity with man. 
And converse with the skies, that thou, Semael, 
Art now forewarn'd, thou soon shalt put aside 
Thy palmer-weeds, and deck thyself with robes 
Radiant with light — a never-fading vestment." 

"Angel of death " — Semael calm replies, 
" Him will I follow, who has pass'd the vale 
Triumphantly before me, and lay down 
My staff of faith, just on those confines, where 
Time ceases, and eternity begins. 
But tell, blest spirit, where thy dwelling-place ? 
O'er earth, — thro' air — or ocean wand'rest thou ; 
Or dost inhabit those bright spheres above, 
Which now send down their influence on the night. 
And tell of worlds beyond ?" — " It is forbidden," 
Answers Emasser, "to unfold to'mortal 
What would inflict on life's probationer 



SEMAEL. 81 

A prescient suffering ; but, Semael, thou 

Art 'bove thy fellow-mortal privileg'd. 

Fear not, — I'm with thee;" — straight Semael feels 

The messenger's firm grasp, as with strong arm 

He circles him ; and o'er the battlement 

Bears him thro' air. The bright array of heav'n 

Is burning overhead ; and, far below, 

The roar of ocean, and the unceasing dash 

Of mountain-torrent, and the hollow moan, 

Made by the night-gust, thro' the rocky gorge 

Of Lebanon and Hermon, scarce are heard. 

As shoots the meteor thro' the cope of night, 
So swiftly pass they peopled continents, 
Kingdoms and empires, and the thronged mart 
Of wall-girt city, now in slumber hush'd. 

And now they light on earth. A chasm vast, 
Of savage aspect and of Stygian gloom, 
Receives the aerial travellers ; when, lo, 
Bursts on Semael's sense a wondrous scene, 
O'erwhelming and appalling. 'Midst a cave, 

5 



82 S E M A E L . 

Which to the gaze would seem interminable, 
Unnumber'd lamps of varied colors, pendent 
From wall of glist'ring spar, stalactitic. 
Shine with a dazzling splendor. While above, 
From the high arched dome of ebon-hue, 
Crystals of rich and varied drapery- 
Give back in prismy hues the flame beneath. 

In the far distance, where the cavern'd space 
Opens to day, a light ineffable, 
Whose brightness far excels ten thousand suns 
Converg'd in one, beams with a ray intense ; 
So that not eagle-eye had brook'd its splendor. 
No wonder this, for thither eflluent. 
Pass the flame-spirits, instant going out. 
Of myriad lamps, coursing with lightning speed 
Back to the source of empyreal brightness. 

From under ground, the sound of rushing waters. 
Chiming thro' clefts, or dashing over rocks. 
Blends with a strange unearthly melody. 
Heard from the vaulted roof. As 'neath the spell 



SEMAEL. 83 

Of wizard-power, cheating the 'wilder'd brain, 
Semael turns him to the stranger-guide. 

" Tell me, Emasser, what this wondrous place ; 
These myriad lamps of varied hue and shape, 
Whose flames in volume differ each from each ; 
From the faint beam which fitfully illumes 
Its own circumference, to those torch-like fires, 
Throwing afar their blaze into the night ?" 

" These," said Emasser, "are the lamps of life ; 
Each has its meted naphtha ; and the hue 
Tells of the varied castes and characters. 
Those thou beholdest, to the verge replenish'd, 
Have enter'd on existence ; these thou seest 
With scant supply, are the brief lights of those, — 
Whether of glorious, or of sad import 
Their lives on earth, — who pass from this abode 
In lustihood of life ; while buoyant hope, 
E'er in the distance, lures them soothingly. 
With bright-wrought tissues fading into air ! — 
'Midst joyous visions of futurity, 



84 S EM A EL. 

Or dark forebodings of an after being, — 

Retributive of good or ill on earth, — 

Their lights go forth — not out, — their issues are 

In the bright effluence, thou seest afar. 

Others thou seest, whose pure flames are fed 

With crystal naphtha — pure as that which gives 

To the bright star of morn its silv'ry ray ; 

Yet as that star evanishes at dawn, 

So shall these lights of cherub-infancy 

Mount up to heav'n and mingle with its brightness." 

" But whose are these," Semael asks, " whose lights 
Burn so intense, and with as vivid flame. 
As that which once descended from above 
On sacrifice accepted, drinking up 
The fluid of life with fierce consuming fire, — 
Making a holocaust of that it loves?" 

Emasser thus : " These are the sons of song, 
Whose lights soon fade and pass from mortal sight ; 
But that which hath been kindled from above, 
Lives thro' eternity ! And see their rays — 



SEM AEL. 85 

Like to th' effulgent sun-strearn issuing forth 
At yonder portal — seek a higher source ; 
Where all their powers inspher'd in harmony, 
Freed from Promethean ligament, which here 
Chains the proud spirit to the naked rock 
Of earth's existence — there to writhe and groan 
In agonizing thraldom, — know no bounds 
But that which binds them to the throne of God ! 
" Not so of him, whose lamp below thou seest. 
Close to that stream bituminous, which flows 
From impure source, conveying in its course 
Gross matter phosphorescent, the foul lees 
Of putrefaction ; — fed by aliment 
So vile, behold how fitfully the flame 
Shoots upward, with resplendent, sportive ray ; 
Now waxes low, a pale and sickly beam. 
Scarcely adhering to the filmy wick ; — 
Now flickering faint, now flashing up again, 
As loath to leave ! This is the light of bard, 
Falsely so call'd, libidinous and vile. 



86 S E M A E L . 

Whose numbers flow in gay and sprightly strain, — 
Charming the ear, soothing the dreamy sense. 
Infusing deadly poison in the soul ; 
Like that of Circe, luring to destroy. 

" Those of ensanguin'd hue are lights of heroes. 
Whose brow-encircling wreath is drench'd in blood. 
The fluid which feeds their flame, as thou perceiv'st, 
Sends forth a sick'ning odor, like to that. 
Which from the field of carnage reeking comes. 

"Emblazon'd in the heav'ns or on the earth. 
Where are inscrib'd the victories of those 
Whom the world hail'd as heroes ? Where the pomp — 
Th' array of serried hosts — the deaf 'ning trump 
Of glorious warfare ? Ask the trackless waste, 
O'er which we cours'd this night, where, in their pride 
Fair cities stood, resounding with the hum 
Of a throng'd people, busy in the arts. 
The gentle courtesies, domestic joys. 
The kindly interchange of charities ; — 
All that exalt society, and lift 



S E M A E L . 

The soul of man. We pass'd this night, where lie 
Prone in the dust, the wondrous works of art ; 
Where silence, like a dwarf and sullen mute, 
Sits with her finger plac'd athwart her lip, 
Clad in her weeds of mourning. And we pass'd 
The arid desert, verdureless, where once 
Bright laughing fields, and crowning villages. 
And flocks, and herds, and smiling harvests, bless'd 
A countless multitude. All these have fled. 
Because a hero will'd it, — and the bard 
With song of triumph would exalt his fame. 
" So much for fell ambition, ruthless e'er 
To all which thwarts his path ; snatching his wreath 
Tho' drench'd with infant gore, 'midst the lament 
Of the 'reft widow, or the shriller wail 
Of maiden, roving o'er the battle-field. 
Even such an one, — as on the wings of air 
We cours'd this night, 'neath yon starr'd canopy, 
Beheld we on the plains of Khuzistan, 
Where Terak winds his way thro' banks of bloom ; 



87 



88 SEMAEL. 

Whose water with the morning sun was bright, 

But now ensanguin'd, fearfully speeds on 

Beneath the moon's sad light. We saw her there 

In search of her betroth 'd in early youth ; 

Whom having found, tho' marr'd with ghastly wound. 

In maniac-mood, she plucks her tresses wild, 

And wipes the life-blood from his clotted face ; 

Then lying down beside, with bosom press'd 

Closely to his, and lip impress'd on lip, 

She yields her life, and with it all her woe. 

" His is a hallow'd cause — such as on high 
Angels shall gaze upon and deem sublime — 
Who on the threshold of his country stands, 
Link'd arm in arm with kindred spirits there, — 
And with confed'rate breast — determined soul — 
Hurls back the invasive foe ; or cleaves to earth 
The wretch who dares assoil his sacred home. 

Who falls a martyr here — to him let pseans 
And songs of lofty eloquence arise ; 
And monumental shaft, to distant age 



SEMAEL. 89 

Attest in grave, enduring character, 

A nation's gratitude for rights maintain'd. 

" These lamps of lurid flame, and sulph'rous stench, 
Shedding a tomb-fire glare, and flashing up. 
With intervals of gloom, are the craz'd urns 
Of sensualists — inebriates — whose whole being, 
Immerg'd in matter, is imbruted so. 
That nought of their original remains ; 
Their semblance, man — their state, beneath the beast. 

" And see yon lamp, in form like serpent wreath'd ; — 
The flame forth issuing from its horrid jaws, 
Like fang distilling poison, darts around 
A baleful, flickering gleam ; showing a skin 
Of mottled hue ; — this is the lamp of him, 
Miscall'd philosopher, whose powers are spent 
In luring souls, by specious show of words, 
To depths of doubt and fathomless despair ; 
Until with fell, self-immolating hand. 
The child of mis'ry hurls his anguish'd spirit 
Into the presence of the God who gave it. 



90 SEMAEL. 

" Beside it, see that lamp of grotesque shape, 
Like to a beetle toiling in the mire. 
With head turn'd earthward ; 'tis the light of him, 
Whose sum of life is spent in heaping up 
That dross of earth, term'd gold. He, like the thin< 
Spher'd by the insect, crumbling into dust. 
Shall prove himself at last, less instinct- wise." 

As if already pass'd those bounds, where time 
To th' illimitable future gives 
Th' enfranchis'd spirit, freed from vassalage 
Of racking doubt or intermittent fear, 
Semael stands ; like one beneath the spell 
Of wizard-power : and lo, the high-arch'd brow, 
The breathing audible, the frame convuls'd, 
The orb of vision, eloquent with dread. 
Hand link'd in hand with spasm'd energy, — 
Attest how deep his soul drinks in the tale, 
Which the dark messenger of fate unfolds. 
Yet like the victim, by the Flamen led 
In pagan pomp, bedeck'd with flow'ry wreath, 



SEMAEL. 91 

Destin'd to crown the sacrificial rite, — 
He bows submissive, and awaits his doom. 

And now Semael questions thus his guide : 
" Closely beside me, burns a lamp, whose light 
Beams forth with clear, attenuated ray, — 
Of form peculiar, — like the vase which throws 
Its grateful incense thro' cathedral-dome ; — 
And see, the aliment which feeds its flame, 
Nigh spent, — its light shall soon depart for aye ; 
Tell me, Emasser, whose this feeble fire V 

" That lamp," replies the messenger, " is thine. 
As I have told thee, ere three moons shall wane, 
Thou, son of earth, shalt end thy pilgrimage, 
And slumber with thy fathers. Nay, fear not ; 
'Tis but a transit ; for in yonder skies, 
These effluent rays shall form a diadem — 
A bright reflex of Deity itself. 
Next to eternal suff'ring, were to live 
Through an eternity of being here, 
Upon this spot call'd earth. Undying man. 
Invested in a frame of fleshly mould, 



92 S E M A E L . 

Subject to rack and moil — soul-strick'ning gloom — 
With intervals of fev'rish, frenzied joy — 
Fitting the more for each access of pain, — 
Were but a thing of wretchedness supreme. 
What never-ending strife of hope and fear, 
Pressure of heart and brain, distracting doubt ; 
Torture which kills not ; joy which flies the grasp ; 
Hope in the distance, which comes never near ; — 
These were indeed eternity of woe, 
To which ten thousand agonizing throes. 
Marshalling the way for me — were joy intense. 

" To die, then, truly is to thee, Semael, 
A freeman's privilege ; — thy franchis'd spirit — 
Prison'd so long, within its dungeon-gloom, — 
Snatching at times glimpses of joy far off, — 
Shall rend its fetters — leave its earthly cell. 
And revel in the bliss of new-born life." 

" 'Tis well," the sage replies, and meekly folds 
His hands upon his breast : — " But say, Emasser, 
Whose lamp is that replenish'd to the verge. 
Burning near mine ?" — Emasser thus : — " That flame 



S E M A E L . • 93 

Is the young Nepar's, who each morning leads 
Forth from Alaya, his well-order'd fold, 
To pasture in the vale 'neath thy abode : — 
Happy his days, for plenty crowns his board ; 
Content and innocence, his chosen guests. 
His oil of life, thou seest, shows that his being 
Has an abidance here of many years." 

Semael motions here, as he would speak, 
But his tongue falters, and his voice is faint ; 
And deep conflicting feelings shake his frame, 
Almost to ague ; while his throbbing brow 
Shows that the pulse of life beats fitfully. 

Folding his mantle o'er his laboring breast — 
As if to shroud its heavings from Emasser — 
He drops it suddenly with flash of thought, 
That pass'd his brain, and wakes another purpose. 
" Emasser," — thus he answers — " thou behold'st 
The lamp of Nepar nigh to overflow ; — 
Were it not well to give of his excess. 
To this poor flame of mine ?" Scarce has his tongue 
Giv'n utt'rance to the thought that racks his soul, 



94 S E M A E L . 

When from the cavern's depths, a fearful shriek, 
As if from thousand agonized spirits. 
Gives forth in bitter plaint ; — and lo, a voice, 
In sorrowing accents echoes deep and clear — 

" Shall perfect charity be found on earth !" 
The din awakes Semael. His, indeed. 
Has been a fearful vision. From the scroll 
Which open lies before him, slow he lifts 
His aching head ; scarce knowing if the dream 
Which sleep had woven, is in truth a dream. 

With trembling bosom, yet with grateful joy. 
He looks around. The glorious sun has risen ; 
And from the ridge of eastern Lebanon — 
Whose brow a crimson haze has circled — casts 
Thro' the east casement, light upon the page, 
Which lies outspread before him, — and he reads : 
'' ' Watch ye and pray,' and heed the tempter's lure ; 
' The spirit wills,' but yet ' the flesh is weak.' " 



M A I A; 

A MASK. 



M A I A . 



FICTION. 



Clad in ever-changing dye, 
The elder-born of fantasy, 
With pinion dipp'd in yonder blue. 
Sparkling in its sapphire hue, 
Tir'd with sport of yesternight. 
On this mortal sphere I light ! 

I have bless'd th' enthusiast's dream 
With the thousand forms, that teem 
Not in worldling's sordid mind — 
To this spot of earth confin'd. 



98 M A I A . 

I, nor festive sport nor mirth 
Hold with Gnome, who delves the earth ; 
Thriding the golden vein — divining, 
Where the silver ore's refining — 
Till his soiled plume no more 
Upward from its dross can soar ! 
He, with cowering crest and wing, 
And drooping eye — no more can spring, 
Like the sceptred bird of Jove, 
To the fount of light above ! 

'Fore the Bard I have disported. 
And his sealed vision courted ; 
Opening to him tracts of time 
Far beyond the solar clime. 
Thence Fve borne him back to where, 
Ages of glory past appear ; 
Where knightly Troubadour, in lays 
Of sweet accord gave forth the praise 
Of Lady-love ; — and tilt and war, 
Lighted on paynim strand afar. 



M A I A . 99 

Whilst, the midst, the courteous dame 
The guerdon-meed of song proclaim. 

Whisking thence, I've fluttering sped 
To the wretch's prison-bed ; 
And while slumber seal'd his lid, 
Open'd on him scenes forbid. 
Home and all its joys beguil'd. 
Spouse and prattling infants smiled ! 
Once more, fraught with bliss, he wander'd 
Where his native stream meander'd ; 
List'ning to the linnet's lays. 
And tasting joys of other days ! 
Now, I hie me hither, where 
Coming fancies fill the air 
With unearthly sounds of glee, 
Of approaching jubilee. 

But lo, what sylphid-spirits sail 
Hither on ambrosial gale ! 

{Fiction retires into the background.) 



100 MAIA. 

Enter Three Fairies. 

First Fairy. Whither, sister, wouldst thou roam ? 

Second Fairy. Where the martin makes his home ;- 
In the mossy, sheltering cleft. 

Third Fairy. Wherefore thither ? frosts have left 
The enamell'd mead, — and daisies peep 
From their half-year, winter sleep. 

Second Fairy. But the orchis shuts her bell ; 
This, some coming sleet doth tell. 

First Fairy. No, the swallow skims the sky, — 

Third Fairy. And mock-bird wakes his revelry. 
And see ! the season weaves for May, 
Blossom, bell, and tassel gay. 
Thro' the air, and on the wing, 
Go the germs of future spring ; 
Floating unseen, save by eyes 
Kenning all their mysteries. 
Mine the task, to break the threads, 
Which the wily spider spreads 



MAIA. 101 

O'er travell'd paths, from spray to spray, 
To mesh the insect on his way. 

Second Fairy. Tell me, when upon the mead 
We parted, whither did ye speed ? 
I, all night within my bower 
Of the yellow jonquil-flower, 
Fanned by zephyr whispering by, — 
Slumber'd with unopening eye, • 
'Neath the moon-illumin'd sky. 

First Fairy. And I, amidst the joyous hall, 
Watch'd the gay, accordant fall 
Of the mazy circling ring, 
Whilst the viol wak'd its string ; 
Lending to beauty's cheek, the while. 
Laugh, and dimple, sport and smile, — 
Gamboling in the flowing tress, 
Smoothing the plume with mute caress ; 
Aijd chasing with my thistle- spear. 
The moth-fly round the taper's glare. 

Third Fairy. Behold this gem ! — this was a tear, 



102 MAI A. 

Coursing down the lovely cheek 
Of a maiden, — bending meek 
O'er the peasant's pallet, — where 
Disease had fixed his ghastly air. 

I mark'd her, when at yester-eve, 
From her lodge she took her leave, 
And, wending thro' the copsewood, hied 
To yon ivied cot. I spied. 
When she from the matron's brow 
Wip'd the cold death-dew ; — whispering low 
Blessed words of hope and peace, — 
Bidding the sigh of anguish cease. 
Just then, from forth her eyelid's sphere, 
This tear-drop cours'd ; I caught it, ere 
It fell to earth, and brought it where 
Our fairy King his audience kept. 
While the race of mortals slept. 

First Fairy. And what did Oberon ? 

Second Fairy. O say ! 

Third Fairy. From Jove's silvery star, a ray 



MAI A. 103 



He caught, and quick with elfin-spear, 
Transfix'd it in the vestal tear. 
Which shot into this crystal sphere ! 
O, sisters, how upon the night 
It stream'd ! as if some meteor bright, 
Bursting amidst the welkin's height, 
Scattered towards earth its thousand streams 
Of diamond starlets ; — 

First Fairy. But, meseems, 

These go out, before they near 
This earth of ours — as if nought fair — 
Of heavenly proof — can, unassoil'd, 
Approach its orb — 

Tliird Fairy. But here it foil'd — 
This beauteous gem — all vain compare ; 
As the nymph, each maiden fair, — 
And blaz'd the more upon the brow 
Of sable-stoled night ! and now 
Our kingly Fay — with gallant mien 
And courteous bow, approach'd his queen ; 



104 MAIA. 

And with a sportive, knightly smile, 
Aerial harpings heard the while, — 
Would fain have placed it in her zone ; 
" Not so," said she, " my Oberon ; 
For only she, this gem shall don, 
Who gave it being — and display 
Its honors, as our Queen of May." 

To Titania, our queen, is the task assigned, 
To place this gem on the bosom kind 
Of the lovely nymph of the falling-tear. 
But lo ! what plaintive sybil's here ? 

MARCH. 
[Beckoning to April, who folloios.] 
Hither, sister, hither, but with stealthy tread, 
And list if now stern Aquilon be fled 
With all his wintry hosts of icy-mail ; 
His ambush'd frost, and fierce, assaulting hail. 
And hark ! — the Lapland war-drum, muttering low. 
The howl of Arctic- wolf ! ah! me — I fear. 



MAI A. 105 

Stern winter will himself anon be here, 
With giant footstep and dark horrent brow, 
Scattering his sleet athwart th' inverted year. 

Even now — even now — 
Methinks I list the despot's threat afar — 
Denouncing scath and death and savage war — 
Borne on the fitful breeze. — Behold ! behold ! 
Blanch'd by the midnight winds from off the wold, 
A pale-eyed daisy 'midst its fellows lies, 
An early victim to insidious skies ! — 
And here, iniced by sleet of yesternight,* 
A zephyr-loving jasmine feels the blight 
Of churlish night, — revisiting the light 
Of this bless'd morn ; yet feeling not the ray 

Of spring-tide day. 
How like a lady-prisoner, she peers — 

* The yellow jasmine of the South frequently blossoms in January and Febru- 
ary. The fact mentioned here has frequently occurred. A severe February sleet 
was followed by a hard frost. A jasmine-vine, with its beautiful, golden-hued, 
bell-shaped blossoms, and bright green leaves, was thus iniced ; upon whieh the 
morning sunbeams reflected with surpassing splendor. 



106 M A T A . 

A Mary or a Grey, of bygone years — 
Thro' the scarce-visible bounds — which wears 
The mockery of homage ; and yet holds 
The lonely nymph within its crystal folds ! 

SONG. 

Tell me, O tell me, thou delicate stranger, 

Bearest thou still the bright vestments of spring, — 

Now that late winter's harsh chidings endanger 
Curve-loving tendril and sweet blossoming ? 

Daisy and primrose and violet are wither'd, 

That peep'd but of late from the warm southern slope ; 

Few were the days here of sunshine they gather'd, — 
Day-stars of summer and pris'ners of hope ! 

Ice-fetter'd victim — death-stricken — yet blooming, — 
Around thee is winter's sharp, cankering breath, — 

Soul-withering, yet clasping, — caressing, entombing 
All that we love, in the folding of death ! 



M ATA, 



107 



Bright to the vision— triumphant— yet dying, — 
Odorless, sunless — thou smil'st to decay ; 

Wintery breezes around thee are sighing — 

Yet still thou look'st forth on the glories of day ! 

O, thus in that hour, when the coil of existence, 
Unrav'ling, is setting th' imprison'd soul free — 

May a spring, never ending, beheld in the distance, 
Cause the spirit to look forth, sweet flow 'ret, like thee ! 

APRIL. 

O moody sister ! thou art still the same. 
As wont of yore — an ever- prescient dame ; 
Foreboding from the skies, stars, moon, and sun, 
Of evil hap ; come, put thy kirtle on 
Of flowers fresh gather 'd ; here is lily fair. 
And rose and snow-drop for thy unbound hair ; — 
Thy tresses discompos'd — thy sibyl- air — 
111 suit the coming of th' auspicious day, 
That ushers in the myrtle-cinctur'd May- 



108 



See how the meadow laughs with myriad flowers ! 
Spring comes, and with her come the loves and hours. 
The swallow is abroad, and upward springing, 
The welcome mock-bird, many-voic'd, is singing. 
All hail the genial morn ; — the seaward plover 
Sails up to heaven, and says that cold is over j 
The lark, whose sky-notes thrill the welkin's ear. 
Mounts fearlessly, and tells our lady's near ; 
The jasmine shoots, the sycamore puts on 
Her tender green — proclaiming winter gone ; 
And the soft-tinted hawthorn, with her green. 
So delicate to sight, — and flow'rets sheen, — 
Yields to the wooing south her sweet perfumes 
To greet our festal Queen ! who hither comes ! 

SONG. 

Look on this rose — 'tis beauty's dower ; 

How bright its hue — its breath how fragrant ! 
The bee that roves from flower to flower, 

Here ends his quest, no longer vagrant : 



MAIA. 109 

And ill his foraging career, 

Like warrior spell'd — enchain'd by beauty, 
Leaves all for this ; and sighing here, 

Merges in love the call of duty. 

Is't not, in truth, of flowers the queen ! 

What pensive grace — bewitching coyness ! 
It peeps from forth its bower of green, 

As, giving joy — itself were joyless. 

Then in thy bosom place this flower, 

Sweet emblem of a morn like this ; 
The year's sweet hymeneal hour, 

When all is redolent of bliss. 

[She places the flower in the zone of March.] 

MUSIC. 

[Scene draws, and discovers Oheron and Titania seated on their 
throne, surrounded by attendant Fairies. One is employed in 
giving drink to Oheron out of a lotus-leaf; another is placing 



110 MAIA. 

flowers in the tresses of Titania ; another is fanning her with 
green palm-leaves. Oberon rises from his throne, and ad- 
dresses the three Fairies.] 

Oheron. Well have ye done, ye fays, to whom we gave 
Our late behest ; all things ye've featly done 
To grace this coronal. Our Maia comes — 
Deck'd with that gem more precious than all else — 
A truthful bosom, fraught with sympathy. 
And see, Titania — see on yonder cloud, 
Which with its fleecy skirt sails 'thwart the blue 
O' th' welkin's cope, our elfin messenger, 
Aglaia, sits, — and to the wanton winds 
Diffuses fragrance. And Ganoma too, 
Our merry fay, with his lithe birchen wand. 
Calls up unreal shapes, and semblances ! 
Agape, too, that melancholy sprite. 
Gives to the upland slopes, and devious brooks, 
And distant hills, the purple haze of spring : 
All, all rejoice. Hark — from the distant wave 



HI 



The chant of ocean-chieftain inland floats! 
E'en Neptune's self, in coral-vesture deck'd, 
Renders his homage to our coming rite. 



SONG, 



THE VY-KING.* 



[Heard in the distance.] 
Come on the sea, sweet one. 

Come without fear ; 
Leave all for me alone, 

Kinsfolk and gear ! 
Yonder, my gallant bark. 

See it rides fair ; 
Pennons fly — sails swell, — 
True 'tis a cockle-shell, 

Yet I am king there ! 

* See De Vigny. 



112 MAI A. 

The land for the slave, sweet one, 

The wave for the free ; 
Round us, wild waters 

Enfold thee and me ! 
True 'tis a great deep ; 

So is love, dear ! 
Pennons fly — sails swell, — 
Our's but a cockle-shell, 

Yet I am king here ! 

Titania. How now, sweet Iris, my light-footed fay, 
To whom, as almoner of fairy realm. 
We gave in trust, the lovely crystal tear. 

Third Fairy. See, my Queen, I've brought it here, 
Perch'd upon my ouphen-spear ; 
Glowing with the starry ray, 
Which Oberon, with kind essay, 
Wrested from the star of Jove, 
As it speeded from above. 

Titania. Give me the gem, bright fairy ; it shall deck, 



MAI A. 113 

On this auspicious morn, the bosom fair 

O' the lovely nymph, to whom it owes its birth. 

Third Fairy. Here to thee, I now consign 
A gem, that shames Golconda's mine ; 
Issuing from the heart's warm core, 
Where love abideth evermore. 
Love, the pearl of priceless worth, 
Love, the sun that lighteth earth, 
Love, that gave existence birth ; 
All the treasure earth affords, 
All the gold the miser hoards. 
All the music of the grove. 
All the starry host above. 
All that greets the eye and ear. 
Is nought — beside this love-form'd tear ! 



114 



MUSIC. 

Pageant ushering in the Queen of May. 

FLORA, POMONA, THE QUEEN, CERES, ZEPHYRUS. 

While these advance in the foreground, the Fairies are arranged 

on each side of the throne. 
Fiction is seen at some distance in the rear, in a green alcove, 

having on one side March, and on the other April. 
Oheron and Titania descend from their throne, and conduct 

Maia to it, placing themselves beside her. The seat of Maia 

is a little more elevated than theirs. 

FLORA. 
[Approaches Maia, and bends in fealty.] 

Hail beauteous Queen ! Sweet Maia, we here bring 
Our vernal tribute ! Lo, the frolic-spring, 
Prank'd in her iris-vest, hath sportive flung 
O'er upland hill and dale, her robe ; — and hung 
Upon the beech, her tassell'd honors high ! 
This coronal, which ere the garish eye 
Of laughing morn peep'd o'er the eastern hill. 
Or that the plaining Whippoorwill 



MAIA. 115 

Had still'd her vesper-notes of yester-eve, 

Or that the woodpecker, with curious bill, 

Had made the wilderness reecho, shrill, — 
For thee, sweet Maia, we weave ! 

Here are sweet violets, gathered 
Ere that the vaulting sun had stolen their dew ; 

And here are wildlings, sever'd 
From off the sloping greensward, where they grew. 

But flowers wither while they bloom. 

Gracing the bridal and the tomb ; 

Stars of earth — they ope to fade ; 

And while, O nymph, for thee we braid 

All that dale or upland views 

Of myriad shapes and myriad hues, 

Know, that summer will be here, 

When these blossomings shall sere ; 

Autumn-gales shall erewhile come ; 

Vocal notes and wild-bee hum 

Then depart, — and leaf and blade, 

'Fore the sighing wind shall fade. 



116 MAIA. 

Haste, then, gather flow 'rets, where 
Spring forever crowns the year ; 
And the spirit, soaring high, 
Drinks of immortality ! 

ZEPHYRUS. 

Hail, lovely Maia ! from yon star-crown'd west, 

On goss'mer wing, we speed at thy behest ! 
Swiftly we have wander'd o'er 
Coral strand and clifF-crown'd shore. 
Where the huge Pacific rides. 
Heaving with his countless tides I 

We have frolick'd with the curl 

Of the crisped Ocean-wave ; 

We have gamboU'd, where the pearl 
Lies deep in Neptune's cave ; 

And have fann'd the sea-boy's sleep. 
Whispering in the shroud ; 

And on the stilly moonlight-deep, 



117 



Mock'd the curlew loud ! 
We have backward chas'd the year, 
Wheeling on his destin'd sphere, 
From the vale of bright Cashmere, 

Either Ind and Araby ; 
All the sweets which each supplies, 
All that greet the charmed eyes. 

Hither we convey to thee, 

In token of our fealty ! 



POMONA. 

All hail sweet Maia ! — not in vassal-guise. 
Hither we haste to plight allegiance due; 
Pomona's treasures come, where summer-skies 
Beam brightest in their deep, cerulean hue ; 
Or when mild autumn, gorgeously bedecks 
The west with pageantry of crimson dye, 
And evening, clad in purple scarf, reflects 
Upon the soul her thought-alluring sky. 



118 M A 1 A . 

Yet these pledges here we bring, 

Of our orchard's blossoming ; 

Redolent of every sweet, 

Which the vernal year can greet ; 

And ere three summer moons shall wane, 

Pomona shall her joys proclaim ; 

Her golden fruit and purple store, 

From her teeming horn shall pour ; 

Crowning the board with viands which vie 

With immortals' luxury ! — 

CERES. 

Yonder, where the forestere 
Affrights with echoing axe the deer. 
Bounding thro' the copse- wood home, — 
Thence, sweet Maia, we have come 
With nodding sheaf and tassell'd ear ; 
And ere three summer-moons appear, 
With their modest crescent fair. 



119 



We shall crown the grange e'erniore, 
And bless the board with Ceres' store. 
Even now the mower spies 
The golden-crested harvest rise ! — 

Not in Delphos' fane I dwell, 
Echoing to the mystic shell ; 
Nor in Eleusis' shrine — nor where 
Dread Dodona fills the air 
With unearthly sounds, — which, caught, 
Are with wondrous import fraught. 

All these mythic fictions gone, — 
Blear delusion too hath flown. 
Philosophy, when read aright, 
Is the harbinger of light ; — 
Mystery, and craft, and fear. 
Have no place or presence here. 

Not a warbler wakes his lay. 
Not a dew-drop pearls the spray, 
Not a fleecy cloud-rack sails, 
'Fore the warm-breath'd summer gales, 



120 MAI A. 

Shedding blessings on the earth, 

But heavenward points its primal birth. 

Hark the green-sedg'd chiming rill, 
Winding down yon cot-crown'd hill, 
The torrent's dash, the river's gush, 
The mighty wind, — resounding crush 
Of the fall'n monarch of the wood, 
Re-echo'd by the distant flood ! 

Ask thy spirit, — while it ranges 
Thro' the wonder-teeming changes 
Of creation's mystic book. 
Whereon, maiden, thou dost look ; 
Wherefore there conjoined be 
Beauty and variety ; 
Why are all those thousand dies, — 
Plumage — leaf — and earth — and skies, 
Ev'ry varying form of being, 
All peculiar, — all agreeing, 
But that the path of duty be 
Path of pleasantness to thee ? 



MAIA, 



121 



Sweet Maia, while thy soul full fraugiit 

With ecstasy of wildered thought, « 

With these joys is redolent, — / 

Be thy spirit, e'er intent 

On that beneficence, which giv'st 

All the bliss, thou here receiv'st. 

So, like those day-spring clouds, which lie 
Entranc'd before the musing eye, — 
Reflecting on their gorgeous height 
The glories of the risen light, — 
Thy soul, responsive, e'er shall be 
The bright reflex of Deity ! 

TITANIA. 
[Advances with the crown and gem.] 
This gem, sweet Maia, all thy own, 
Shall deck this day thy lovely zone ; 
Our Iris mark'd thee, yester-eve. 
Ere the western sky could weave 
Her many-colored braid of light, 



12-, 



To deck the raven-brow of night, — 
She mark'd thee, when, at yester-eve, 
Thou from thy lodge didst take thy leave ; 
Wending thro' copse, and dell, and mead, 
To minister to sufF'rer's need : 
And saw thee, from the matron's brow 
Wipe the cold death-dew — whisp'ring low 
Blessed words of hope and peace. 
Bidding the sigh of anguish cease. 

Just then, from forth thy eyelids' sphere. 
This tear-drop cours'd, — she caught it, ere 
It fell to earth — and brought it where 
Our Oberon his audience kept. 
While the race of mortals slept. 
'Twas even then, my royal fay 
From Jove's silvery star a ray 
Straight caught, and quick, with elfin-spear, 
Transfix'd it in this vestal tear, — 
And fain would place it in my zone : 
" Not so," said I, " my Oberon, 
For only she this gem shall don, 



M A I A . 1 23 

Who gave it being — and display- 
Its honors, as our Queen of May." 
\Titania places the crystal tear in the zone of Maia.] 

THE CORONAL. 

And now that with the vernal year, . 

Awak'ning nature's smiles appear ; 
While genial harmony and gladness. 
Lift e'en the stoic-brow of sadness ; — 
While groves are vocal, flow'rets brightest. 
Skies blue, hearts true, and bosoms lightest, — 
To usher in this blissful day. 
We crown thee, maiden. Queen of May ! 
We bring thee garlands, gather'd ere 
The sun's first orient rays could sere 
Their bloom and freshness ; — eglantine, 
Violet and rose and lily, twine 
To grace this festive day of thine ! 
But lilies fade, and roses wither. 
And spring departs, and clouds oft gather, 



124 MAIA. 

And summer flies, and autumn, near, 
Resigns to winter's arms the year. 
— O, may we, lovely Maia, see 
The season's blessings meet in thee ; 
Spring's earliest promise, summer's skies, 
And autumn's stores, and winter's joys ; — 
Revolving thus, e'er bless'd and blessing. 
And virtue's fadeless meed possessing. 

CHORAL RESPONSE. 

And now, that with the vernal year, 

Awak'ning nature's smiles appear. 

While genial harmony and gladness 

Lift e'en the stoic-brow of sadness ; 

While groves are vocal, flow'rets brightest, 

Skies blue, hearts true, and bosoms lightest, — 

To usher in this blissful day. 

We crown thee, maiden. Queen of May. 

[After a slight pause, Oberon and Titania conduct Maia from her 
throne.} 



MAI A. 125 

TRIUMPHAL BIARCH. 
[All pass out except the three Fairies and Fiction.] 

Third Fairy. And now, with duteous speed, we'll sail. 
On the blossom-bearing gale, 
To where Oberon, our king. 
And his queen, Titania, bring 
Regal banquet for the fair, 
Of bosom kind and falling tear ; 
And yon gem shall gorgeous blaze 
Brighter than the planet's rays — 
Whence its silvery sheen is ta'en — 
In the forehead of the night. 
Charming the sense with moral light, — 
Telling that nought more brightly glows 
Than beauty's tear for kindred woes. 



126 MAI A 



FICTION. 



'Tis pleasant in greenwood, where wild lings are 

springing, 
Where the spicewood-tree blooms, where the linnet is 

singing, 
To list to the boatman's carols which tell, 
Mellow'd by distance, passing well ; 
'Tis sweet by the moonlit fountain to lie, 
And watch the light fleece come sailing by. 
And picture thereon, with spell- waking wand, 
All the enchantments of fairy land ! 
Or, to join our voices with winds which blow, 
On summer eve, thro' the forest-bough. 
But 'tis sweeter, far sweeter, to watch the rise. 
In the morning of life, of brimming eyes, 
O'erflowing with hopes and sympathies. 

And now, we'll away to the banquet-hall. 

Lest there aught of scath our queen befall ; 

Be mine the task to dispense around 



MAI A. 127 

Sweet illusions of sight and sound ; 
Pluming the thought, and pointing the smile, 
And joining of hearts and hands the while. 
Thus then, on whirring pinions we go, — 
Hither, sweet fairies, and trip it so ! 



WEEDS FROM LIFE'S SEA-SHORE. 



Thou who readest here, — learn that these — 
Each of these weeds hath been uptorn — each one- 
From the mysterious soundhigs of the heart; — 
To each belongs a tale, which but the depths 
From which they come, can tell 



WEEDS FROM LIFE'S SEA-SHORE. 



THE CHRYSALIS. 



I TOO, like thee, amidst the stour 

Of winter's darkest noon was nurs'd — 
Cradled in ice, and rock'd in storm ; 
Blear lightning, at that hour accurs'd, 

Around was gleaming, 
And the night-bird of ominous power 
O'erhead was screaming. 



132 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE, 

And would that hour, which forward gave 

My helpless bark to life's rough sea, 
Had seen it found'ring 'neath the wave 

Of overwhelming destiny ! 
Or — rather — were the gall-steep'd germ 

Of hateful being never given ; 
Or, that life's lamp — when it would burn — 

Were blasted by a gust from heaven. 

Yet thou, lone chrysalis, though erst 
Autumnal leaves their cerement gave 
To form thy little embryo-grave, — 
Shall burst. 
Soon as the early swallow skims the stream. 
Thy earthly tegument — thy wintry dream, 
And soar on pinion far away 
Beneath the solar ray. 

From flower to flower at will to rove, 
Freely to sip where thou shalt list, 



WEEDS FROM life's SEA-SHORE. 133 

Protrering to each a passing love, 

Reckless of beauty soon as kiss'd ; 
Till tir'd of play and fev'rish being, 
The same dull round of pleasure-seeing, 

Pillow 'd on the rose's breast — 
Together with the west'ring sun — 
Thy little brief existence done — 

Thou sink'st to rest. 

Lone chrysalis ! 'twas pride beguil'd 
The parent, thus to place her child 

Pendent on the cliff's dread brow ; 
Where haggard danger, mute yet wild, 

O'erlooks the misty vale below. 
Ah ! deem'd she then, what ills await 
Ambition's cliff-aspiring gait ; 
That 'midst these peaks, the lightning stroke 
Rifts to the base the gnarled oak ; 
While safe within the valley moor'd, 

Screen'd from the tempest's scowling eye, 



134 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 

The humble holly roots secur'd, 

Nor dreads a fluctuating sky. 
Ah, thither hie, 
On that blest morn, which sees thy natal hour ; 

For I, like thee, amidst the stour 
Of winter's keenest noon was nurs'd — 
Cradled in woe and rock'd in storm ; 
Yet, tho' the world its cerement bear, 
To sepulchre the spirit here, — 

Yet shall it burst — 
Soon as the eternal morn shall beam — 
This earthly tegument — this wintry dream, — 
And soar on pinion far away 
Beyond the solar ray ! 

1809. 



THE MANIAC-MOTHER. 



She sits within her maniac-cell, 

Like statue in Egyptian tomb, 
No impulse prompts, no passion's swell 

Heaves in her breast, where all is gloom. 

And yet that eye's bewilder'd sphere, 

E'en tho' immovable it seem. 
Looks in upon the soul, and there 

Beholds its earliest childhood's dream. 

And see that flush'd yet beauteous brow. 
O'er which a gray lock — not of time — 

Falls like a flake of Alpine snow 
Upon some crevic'd eglantine. 



136 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 

Her world is all within ; — around 

She sees not — hears not — feels not aught ; 

The moving lip gives forth no sound, — 
She lives as tho' she liveth not. 

The summer breeze, which wanton plays 
Amid her tresses, moves not her ; 

With hands enclasp'd she bides the gaze 
Of weeping friend and passenger. 

But lo ! upon her heaving breast, 

With tendril-twine, her babe would seek 

To clasp its fount of life, and rest 
E'en there its pouting lip and cheek. 

See, see, she moves, benignant smiles, — 
Her eye unfix'd, bends down ; she views 

The cherub one's endearing wiles, — 

She weeps — she weeps ; the blessed dews 



WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 137 

Of sweet affection, like the drops 

Of heaven upon the sultry plain, 
Fall fast and thick, — and new-born hopes 

And past affections spring again. 

The hands forego their marble hold. 
And mount convulsive from their rest ; 

The mother rapturous enfolds, 

And clasps her infant to her breast. 

And now his cheek is press'd to hers, 
And consciousness, like morning light. 

Dawns on her soul — and passion stirs, 
And day once more succeeds to night. 

Her lip drinks in his fragrant breath, 
She speaks — she names her infant one ; 

'Tis as a soul awoke from death, — 

As bursts thro' autumn's cloud the sun. 

7* 



138 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHOllE. 

The sculptur'd form — so fable spoke — 
Breath'd at the artist's earnest pray'r ; 

Instinct with spirit, it awoke. 

And love, and life, and thought were there. 

But here, a mother's love alone 
Doth reillume the torch of mind, 

Wake from its wintry sleep the soul, — 
Like faith it loosens and can bind. 

O Thou, who saidst that e'en when she — 
A mother — should desert her own. 

Thou art with him who flies to Thee, — 
Thy love surpasseth hers alone. 



EI TAP. 



Give me the conflict, where all in all, 

Is placed on the perilous cost ; 
Where conquest shall give — or scath befall — 

And battle won or lost. 

But this probation of strife and woe. 

Which manacles spirit and will, — 
This rack of bigotry, blow by blow, 

Doth crush the spirit — not kill. 

These — these are the vultures of earth, which tear 

The heart to its inmost core ; 
O, the lightning's shaft were mercy here, 

Which, blasting — blasts no more ! 



TO J. P. M. 



The gaudy mantle of pride and power, 

Cinctur'd around, with flowery zone, 
O, where is its clasp, at the sunset-hour. 

When the spirit in solitude sits alone ? 
When the feast is done, and life's pageant is o'er. 

And the bridegroom death in his vestments come, 
When the bowl lies broken, the oil no more. 

And the guests have departed one by one ? 

And at that parting, O what are all 
The glories of morn or twilight gray, 



The grandeur of ocean, the tones which fall 
On the chords of the heart in ecstasy ? 

When the restless spirit which nestled here, 
Is fleeing on pinion of light away, — 

Escaping its mansion of sin and care, 
To bask in the beam of eternal day ! 

Then, heaven in mercy hath hung the lyre 

Of earthly bliss on the willows of woe. 
That the exil'd here might still aspire 

To a home, where music resumes its ^ow, — 
Where the chorus of praise shall ever arise 

From voices and harpings, never to cease — 
And the light of a Saviour glad the eyes, 

In a region, where all is joy and peace ! 

1830. 



THE INNER-WORLD. 



Look out upon the things of earth — 

The beautiful, sublime, and fair ; 
Gaze on until the sated sense. 

Recoil at what is there ; 
The landscape's ever-shifting form. 

The cultur'd dale — cliff-pillar'd sky- 
Torrent and lake — all that can charm 

Or hold in thrall the eye. 

Look on yon dome's majestic pile : 
See, where its marble column throws 



WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 143 

Its semblance on the sunlit-stream, 

Which near its terrace flows. 
Look out upon the ocean-wave, 

From the lone bark, or sea-girt steep, 
And note, upon its giant breast, 

The tall ship's cradle-sleep ; — 
Or see it in its waking wrath, 

Where, surging on the rock-crown'd height, 
It scorns all subject-fealty — 

Exulting in its might. 



Or gaze on beauty's cheek — drink in 

Of siren-song, until its strain 
Deluge the heart with fierce delight, 

And joy itself be pain ; — 
And the full breast ; like his of yore — 

Check'd in his whirlwind-sweep of earth- 
Lament, that there are bounds which stay 

The bliss which here hath birth. 



144 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE, 

Yet 'midst all these, the drooping soul, 

With unplum'd wing and fallen crest. 
May sit within its inner court, 

Unvisited — unblest. 
'Tis the bright sunshine from above. 

Whose effluence can alone illume 
The things of earth, and give a joy 

Which lives beyond the tomb. 

The spirit's rest is not of earth ; — 

Here, like a songster-bird, it sings 
From off its spray, and looks beyond 

Where light eternal springs ! 
True, — to the past it turns its eye. 

As to a little firth, flown o'er, 
And sees an ocean, surging on 

Th' illimitable shore ! 

All, all without is aliment ; 

Nor can the outward sense inherit 



WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 145 

Aught of those attributes divine, 

Which belong unto the spirit ; 
For eye and ear are ministers — 

Purveyors of the soul within ; 
And O, if darkness broodeth there — 

It is the night of sin. 

The mind illum'd — alike yon wave, 

Where tower and rock reflected lie — 
Gives back the heaven-enkindled ray — 

Reflex of Deity ! 
The atheist-eye may roam at large 

From Alpine height, o'er tower and fell ; 
Drink in poetic ardor there, 

And yet that heart be hell. 

To him, the light which burns within, 

Is darkness ; and the spirit strong 
Cowers to earth — a quirister — 

Yet darkling in its song. 



146 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE 

It sees the orb of truth afar, 

Shorn of its glorious beams, as th' eye 
Of Arctic trav'ler sees the sun 

Far in the distant sky. 

And O, if wrapp'd within this web — 

This chrysalis of earthly blight — 
The soul drinks in from things without 

Such draughts of keen delight, — 
What bliss awaits the seraph — when 

From this its coil of earth set free — 
It bathes in light ineffable 

Of God's Eternity. 



THOUGHTS. 



The deepest, sharpest woes, which pierce 

E'en to the soul, not always pain, — 
The wound, at times, may bleed, — but, then, 

'Twill bleed and cicatrize again. 
So, too, the tear which kindly flows 

For kindred grief, shall pass away, 
As night-dew from the drooping rose. 

Before the morning's early ray. 
'Tis well 'tis thus ; for were the grief 

Of myriads here, who writhe and moil. 
Accumulative, as the leaf 

Of autumn, on the trodden soil, — 



148 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 

A dun eclipse, a general blight. 

Upon this little sphere would fall ; 

Affliction's cloud blot out the light, 

And cover as a funeral pall. 

1806. 



Heaven wills — and to its high behest 

Sure we should bow — Heaven wills that here, 

Virtue should ever be enchas'd 
In the jet-ground of worldly care ; 

And brightest gleams on darkest soil 
The gem which holds inherent light, — 

In the full blaze of day, no foil 

Gives forth its beauty to the sight. 

1806. 



And yet despite the frigid lore 

Which cloister'd wisdom oft has dealt 



To misery's moan, — 
Cull'd from the scholiast's crude store — 
Profuse of sentiment unfelt, 

For throes unknown : 
Still, like yon far view'd billow heaving, 
Tho' the rough blast hath left the sky, 
The conscious breast to memory cleaving. 
Gives to the past the tribute sigh. 



I ASK not here, or wealth, or power ;- 
Grant to the great the golden hour ;— 
Be mine the might in powerful song, 
To reach, to bear the breast along. 
'Tis not the boon of life I crave, — 
For me no terrors hath the grave ; — 
But O, let not time's onward wave 
O'er my sod oblivious lave ; 



1806. 



150 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 

But like the star, whose trembling light 
Shoots o'er the weltering wave of night — 
I would transmit one cheering ray, 
To greet life's pilgrim on his way. 



1807. 



I ASK not fame — it comes too late ; 

What is the laureate-wreath to him, 
Who long hath with an adverse fate 

Wrestled in agony of spirit ? — dim 
The pageantry of life. The appetite 

That crav'd the breath of man is sated. 
Creator ! may the blessed light 

Of truth be mine ! The spirit mated 
To Thee, the source of truth, can ne'er 

Live on earth's aliment ; but high, 
Seek its original — and there. 

Merge all of being in eternity. 



1843. 



I SIT 'neath the trembling moonbeam, 
And list to the light wind's play ; — 

It comes from across the graves of those, 
Who were of yesterday. 

From the pine-clad hill, where they lie, 

O, their voices seem to say — 
The flute-like voices of those we lov'd, — 

We were of yesterday. 

And the dark forest yields its leaves 
To the passing night-cloud's sway ; — 

They strow the resting-place of those, 
Who were of yesterday. 

And, O, it were sweet here to rest 

In peace, — 'neath night's trembling ray, 

And sleep the sleep of those, now blest, — 
Who were of yesterday. 



1847. 



THE PEASANT-WIFE. 



Joy to the peasant-wife, 

Lovely and mild, 
In the well-water'd valley, 

A flower o' the wild ; 
'Neath her thatched roof plying 

Spindle and loom, 
She prepares for him absent, 

The comforts of home. 
From the hill-top, her carols 



Come back, like the greeting 
Of silver-voic'd cherubs, 

In symphony meeting. 
At dawn, with the woodlark 

Goes he fieldward, and late, 
With the woodlark, as duly 

Returns to his mate ; 
While around him, like vine-plants, 

The infant ones creep. 
And claim the knees' dalliance 

And lullaby-sleep. 
These — while the yule-fagot 

Gives forth its rich glow. 
Yield nights which the vot'ries 

Of fashion ne'er know. 
Thus in spring-tide and summer, 

In autumn and cold. 
Behold how they cluster 

Like lambs of one fold. 
Who watches their slumber, 



154 WEEDS FROM FIFe's SEA-SHORE 

Who wakes them to toil, 
Fills their lap with the fruit 

Of the rock-cinctur'd soil ? 
That Being who gives 

To the raven its food, 
And tempers the blast 

To the dove's callow brood. 
Look abroad on the mart 

Of what worldlings call bliss, 
And tell if thou seest there 

Happ'ness like this. 
'Tis contentment alone 

Gives existence its zest ; 
His life is most fragrant, 

Whose heart is at rest. 
Then joy to the peasant-wife, 

Lovely and mild. 
In the sweet-water'd valley, 

A flow'r o' the wild : 



WEEDS FP^OM life's SEA-SHORE. 155 

'Neath the thatched roof plying 

Spindle and loom, 
Who prepares for the absent 

The comforts of home ! 



THE TABLET. 



"Mount up with wings as eagles.' 

Like this tablet, thy life's volume 
Hath few records yet within, 

Virgin-leaflets — unassoiled 
By the Harpy-touch of sin. 

May its yet unwritten pages — 
Gay or sad — record no day, 

Which may cloud thy future age's 
Calm descending, evening ray. 



WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 157 

Life will fleet — e'en now 'tis fleeting, 

And our morrows, like yon sky — 
Earth and Heaven dimly meeting 

In the distance — come not nigh. 

And the crimson honors beaming, 
Tempting with their beauteous bow, 

Fade with night, like fancy's seeming — 
Lo, 'lis changing, fading now. 

As St. Bernard's pilgrim, wending, 

Where the tow'ring Alps arise, — 
Over crag and cliff* ascending, 

Toils to near his native skies. 

Peak o'er peak, aloft aspiring, 

As in rivalry, he sees ; 
Snow-clad vales beyond, retiring, 

Lost amid their mountain seas. 



158 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 

These he tempts not — but reposes 

'Neath his homestead — while, abroad, 

All the wildering scene discloses 
Where, a pilgrim, late he trod. 

Thus, O youth, tho' in the distance, 

Blissful visions now arise. 
May to thee, this earth's existence 

Ope a vista to the skies. 

Lo, within the breast's dominion, 

Glory, vict'ry, empire lie ; 
While ambition's eagle pinion 

Tempts the glacier-clifF on high, 

Where the ice-peak turret gleaming, 
Sun-illum'd, is bright but cold, — 

Like philosophy's vain dreaming. 
Like the bliss of mortal mould. 



WEEDS FROM LIFe's SEA -SHORE. 159 

Sun-illum'd aloft it towers,' 

Yet beneath, dissolving slow, 
Lo, an avalanche, — it lowers. 

Whelming, crushing all below. 

O, be then. Thou Rock of Ages ! — 

Thou alone, her bold emprise, — 
That when below night's tempest rages, 

Day-spring above may glad her eyes ! 



THE GLOBE-AMARANTH. 



TO J. P. M. 
''Since bright things fade, why not this?" 

You ask me why this sunny gem, 

Gather'd 'midst autumn's low'ring weather, 
Tho' sever'd from its parent stem. 

Should hold its form and bloom together. 
'Midst winter's dark and driving clouds, 

Unalter'd peers the selfsame flower, 
Nor dreads the gloomy north, which shrouds 

All nature, with benumbing power. 



WEEDS FROM LIFe's SEA-SHORE. 161 

Observe its leaves, like warrior's mail, 

Obdurate, hard, repel the finger; 
No zephyr pauses, to inhale 

The, odors which around it linger. 
Why should it fade ? — nought's there, which death 

Could banquet on, and find a home ; — 
It lives — lives on — while 'fore the breath 

Of winter, leaf and flower have flown. 
E'en with the breath of spring, some one 

Begins to pale its virgin hue : 
The daisy closes with the sun, 

The primrose, ere it drinks the dew. 
O, it is only hearts and flowers 

Of tender form and lovely dye. 
Which feel the chill on life that lowers. 

And wither 'fore a wintry sky. 



TO THE EVENING STAR. 



Star of eve, ofsilv'ry hue, 
Who on my pillow beam'st, 

'Midst yonder fields of deepest blue, 
On pilgrimage thou seem'st. 



Art thou, indeed, of earthly mould — 
That gem'st the brow of night — 

And with our sphere dost kindly hold 
Sweet interchange of light ? 



WEEDS FROM LIFe's SEA -SHORE. 16t 

To-morrow's sun which lights us here, 

Shall give to thee our ray ; 
We then shall be thy evening star, 

And thus thy beams repay. 

Bless'd intercourse ! 'tis thus that souls, 

Illumin'd from above, 
Give back that joy themselves receive, 

Communicant of love. 

Be then our star, when dews of night 
This earth with tears have strown, 

And we shall be to thee a star, 
To cheer thee in thy own. 



MARY. 



If life were but a vision, bright yet fleet, 

Athwart whose wildering maze, in pleasing show, 
Those phantom-joys disport, which mortals greet 
As aye substantial forms of bliss below — 
Were he not then accurs'd who, with fell blow, 

Would seek these joyous visions to dispel, 
Which of themselves, alas ! too quickly go, — 

Evanishing ere seen — so frail the spell — 
Like nightly fire of yore at sound of curfew-bell. 

O Mary, still I see thee as thou wert, 

Flush'd with expectancy of coming years, — 



WEEDS FROM LIFe's SEA-SHORE. 165 

That soul whence genius beam'd — that full-ton'd heart, 
Nor damp'd with sagging doubt, nor blench'd with fears, 
Nor weeting aught of future haps or cares, — 
Thee viewing thus, oft 'fore my sickening soul 

Memory, the record of the past hath held, 
When panting for the self-same glorious goal, 
I laugh'd to scorn the prudent lore of eld, 
That with monition kind, hath stern upheld 
The disappointment and the care which blight 
Ambition's fearful, cliff-aspiring flight. 
Then bounding buoyant with the conscious spring 

Of raptur'd thought, the heaven-plum'd spirit soar'd, 
And on ambition's untir'd wing, 

All the enchanted worlds of sense explor'd 
Teeming with fantasies which know no name. 

With feeling, — felt, — but not to be portray'd, 
Fir'd with the God-enkindled thirst of fame, — 

I heeded not the voice that would have stay'd, 
With kind monition ; spurning all beneath — 
The pageantry of earth — for fame's undying wreath. 



166 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE. 

But ah ! the vision fled — the spring-time bloom 
Of dreamy life was gone ; full soon I wept 

O'er years irrevocably gone ; around was gloom. 
That fame I curs'd, which like a mildew crept 
O'er feelings, which had else contented slept, 
Envying the hind, who o'er the threshold stepp'd — 
What time, his daily task, and labor done, 
Slow speeding homeward at the setting sun, 
He finds a home, a fireside, and an eye, 
Dew'd with affection's heartfelt witchery. 

Mary, thou soon from earth didst pass away, 

Ere thou hadst read this monitory rhyme. 
And now art, where one bright unclouded day 

For ever beams. I little deem'd that time. 
Who spares the scathed oak, — with tyrant sway 

Would spoil that flower, fairer than that which bloom'd 
In Enna's vale, where Ceres' daughter roam'd. 

And here thou restest, maiden, all entomb'd ; 
Yet O, not so ; thou'st join'd that choir on high, 



WEEDS FROM LIFE's 6EA-tfHORE. 167 

Where choral strams are ever heard. Thy dwelling 

Is by the source of sacred minstrelsy. 

'Tis there, thou drink'st inspiring draughts, excelling 

All which from crystal streams of earth are welling, 

Or Aganippe's fount, or Castaly. 

1813. 



"NACOOCHEE. 



Thy vale, sweet Nacoochee, 

Midst slumbers of night, 
Comes over my vision 

In garments of light ; 
I see thee — still see thee — 

A vestal all bright, 
Array'd in thy vestments 

For eve's coming rite. 

While Yonah, uplifting 
His forehead on high, 



WEEDS FROM LIFe's SEA-SHORE, 169 

Like prophet preparing 

For sacrifice nigh — 
Thou, sweetest of virgins, 

Meek bending below. 
Like an angel of peace 

Wreath'st with chaplet thy brow ! 

And see in the distance, 

Still rises to view 
The pure glowing heavens 

Of dazzling hue. 
And bright tissu'd crimson, — 

And, towering on high. 
Dark Yonah scowls darkly 

Against the bright sky. 

While over thy valley, 

Nacoochee, there gleams 
The moon's early crescent, 

Or sun's latest beams : 



170 WEEDS FROM LIFE's SEA-SHORE 

0, it seems as if Heaven 

Affianced, would be 
Still nearer — still dearer, 

Nacoochee, to thee ! 



THE ARTIST. 



THE ARTIST 



INSCRIBED TO J. P. M. 

I KNOW not, if the ethic sage, 
Whom thoughts excursive oft engage ; 
Whose speculative flights begin 
E'en at the origin of sin, — 
Hath ever, in discursive vein, 
Dwelt on this truth — no cynic strain — 
That man, however constituted, 
Whether exalted or imbruted, 



174 THE ARTIST. 

Hath centred in him a shrewd sense 
Of beauty and of excellence. 

In apposition, bard or brother 
Project their shadows on each other ; 
So, in the zone of night, one star 
Shines brightly — where no others are, — 
Of satellites or so — a few — 
But galaxies of wits won't do. 
In science, true, these things are various, 
But when was genius e'er gregarious ? 

Herein we see the reason why 
That dusk-brown dame, Antiquity, 
Gives to the hazy past assistance, 
By throwing authors into distance ; — 
It softens down and quite subdues 
The coarser shades, unblending hues; 
So, the fly in amber finely shows. 
Whose buzzing teazed around one's nose. 

The ideal in bust is truly hit. 
By the blank eye ; for that's unlit ; 



THEARTIST. 175 

Wanting locality of sight — 
It seems to tell the critic-wight, 
That orbless eye sends forth its ken 
" To other times and other men.'* 

Nay, look not thus, — I meant not now 
To discompose that halcyon brow, 
Which, like the rainbow", shows the storm 
Of envy's scath at distance borne ; 
While dove-ey'd peace and truth sincere. 
Twin-born of Heaven, are nestled there ! 

And, that the poet may dispense 
With his vain modicum of sense, 
Most aphoristically wise, — 
A tale of old shall best suffice. 

A painter, who with magic art, 
E'er through the eye could reach the heart. 
Would fain — his locks now blench'd with age, 
Imp'd by the bosom's noblest rage — 
Essay once more the canvas' might ; 
Thus setting, like the sun, in light. 



176 THE ARTIST. 

The idea fir'd — again his soul 
Rush'd forth to reach th' alluring goal ; 
Again would win the living bay, — 
Such, Fame, is thy all potent sway ! 
His strokes a wizard power inherit, 
Each magic wave calls forth a spirit ; 
And while successive charms appear, 
His soul, effusive, revels there ! 

Thrice had the sun his coursers driven 
Through the elliptic line of Heaven, 
When, 'neath his proud exulting view, 
The tablet spoke to nature true : 
Forth to the eye, his pencil gave. 
Just rising from the Tyrrhene wave. 
The Cyprian Queen. You would have thought 
A life was in the colors wrought ; 
So fraught with every breathing charm, 
The tell-tale cheek with love was warm ; 
The lip, with laughing, pointing dip, 
Would tempt an anchorite to sip. 



THE ARTIST. 177 

The eye spoke worlds, the dimple coy 

Bore heaven's impress, and told of joy ; 

And O, what witching foil was there 

Of ebon lock and forehead fair ; 

What flexile grace, and breathing swell, — 

Angels had gaz'd, and deem'd it well ! 
Lo, whilst the vet'ran-genius pores, 

And soul-plum'd aspiration soars ; 

While, with time-silver'd lock, he bends, 

Which waving o'er the frame descends,— 

It seem'd like Beauty's self sublime, 
Beneath the gaze of halting Time. 
Now 'neath the Academic dome, 
Where connoisseur and artist come ; 
Where daub and genius, cheek-by-jowl, 
Alternate shock and raise the soul ; 
Where Raphael's soul-subduing touch 
Yields to the cognoscente's smutch, — 
Behold the laurell'd sage appears, 
Bow'd 'neath 'bash'd diffidence and years ! 



178 THEAKTIST. 

Yet might you see in that dark eye, 

A conscious, proud nobility, 

Which spoke a soul ne'er vilely bending, 

Whose eagle ken aloft extending, 

Holds converse with that source supreme, 

Whence genius draws its vestal flame. 

In noble rivalry array'd. 
Around the hall, the eye survey'd 
The pencil's godlike strife, — for there 
Shone forth each emulous compeer, 
Marshall'd in the proud career ; 
And each would win the laureate crown 
Which makes the future all his own ! 

See, where amidst the list is plac'd. 
By frieze or 'broidery ungrac'd. 
The glowing tablet, — and beside. 
To tempt the power of critic-pride, 
His brush and palet, arm'd with jet, 
A gage for rivalry are set. 
And as, when 'midst the stellar host, 



THEARTIST. 179 

The wilder'd sense in rapture lost, 
Unsated roves, — if th' eastern moon. 
Bulges full orb'd, — their radiance soon 
Fades on the view, — e'en so the gaze 
Turns to where powers sublimely blaze ; 
E'en so, afore the master-fire, 
The lesser glories, pale retire. 

With rapture, ecstasy, delight. 
Each bosom owns the artist's might ; 
Each too, with knowing air and eye, 
Declares the thing a prodigy ; 
Gazing with satyr-eye and awe, 
As 'twere the goddess' self he saw ; 
When erst, from forth primeval night 
She gave her beauties to the light. 

At first, in eulogy each ran : 
" Sure such were ne'er the work of man ! 
So just the finish ! and the air 
So unique, the ideal so fair ! 
Congruity — proportion — t r u e — 



180 THEARTIST. 

The ensemble chaste, and full of gout ; 
Expression, grouping, keeping such, 
Nought was deficient — nought too much !" 

" And yet, — methinks," a coxcomb cried. 
Fraught with a petit-maitre's pride, 
And bowing with submission meek, — 
" And 'tis with reverence I speak, — 
The lip is somewhat here too curv'd ; 
'Tis here, the artist sure has swerv'd ; 
The amendment's facile, — pity 'lis, 
A thing so perfect were amiss." 
He said, and with the profTer'd jet, 
Noted the fault his eye had met. 

A travell'd dilletante — next, 
With brow in wrinkled thought perplex'd. 
Who all the Vatican and Louvre, 
Had curiously inspected over ; 
Each grace could tell, chefd'oeuvre, blemish, 
Florentine, Lombard, Roman, Flemish : 
So great a connoisseur, the man 



T 11 E A 11 T 1 S T . 181 

An Angel with a frown could damn ! 

Or with enraptur'd, heavenward eyes, 

A Devil apotheosize ! 

With swinging gait he makes advance ; 

Steps forward, back, and looks askance ; 

Talks much of Poussin, Raffaelo, 

Tints grave, warm, neutral, cold, and mellow. 

" Th' antique in keeping ! drapery fine ! 

The style correct ! the tints divine ! 

In short 'twere faultless, did but here 

More of amenity appear." 

He said, then seiz'd the stygian dye, 

And gave a spot to either eye ! 

And as when hostile chiefs prepare 
To close in strife, at first in air 
Few missiles sent, incite to rage, 
Till close confronting, all engage ; 
Even thus, prelusive, critic ire 
Provokes the war, and all aspire, 
Grasping the brush in breathless haste, 



182 THE ARTIST. 

To prove his judgmeut and his taste. 
E'en thus, for so the Chian bard 
Hath sung, — ^Eolia's chieftain* warr'd 
With Beauty's Queen, and ichor ran 
From wounds celestial — shed by man. 
Thus, round the tablet, each would dare 
A goddess — and assault the fair ; 
Till lo ! before the invasive crew, 
The picture vanish'd from the view ! — 

There is an alchemy divine 
Whose treasure mocks Potosi's mine. 
And shames the gorgeous eastern gem, 
Cresting the Moslem diadem ! 
It grows not pale o'er tomes of eld, 
'Tis not by midnight vigil spell'd, 
It seeks not charms, nor filters rare, 
Nor delves the earth, nor thrids the air. 
Nor orgies holds with elfin crew, 
Who lure to harm, by deeds untrue ! 

* Diomedes. 



THE ARTIST. 183 

O no, — it blesses and is bless'd, — 
Its crucible, the human breast ; — 
'Tis this, sustains this ball of earth ; 
'Twas present at existence' birth ; 
The fiat which said, " Let there be light," 
Consign'd to earth the guardian sprite ; — 
And when yon skyward vaulting sun, 
Thro' heaven's blue arch hath ceas'd to run ; 
And — snapp'd the golden cord, whose force 
Retains the planets in their course — 
When systems have in ruin rush'd. 
In one primeval chaos crush'd, — 
Thou, CHARITY, with outstretch'd plume 
Uprising, shalt thy seat resume, 
And 'midst the empyrean high, 
Shall dwell for aye with Deity ! 



LA FAYETTE. 



'TwAS Alleghan that first beheld thee, 

Panoplied 'gainst freedom's foes, 
When ascendant fame impell'd thee 

To the clime, where erst she rose ! 
Where her birth-star proudly gleaming, 

Hover'd o'er th' impurpled west — 
There wert thou ; whilst honor beaming. 

Lighted on thy gallant crest ! 
There, 'twill be told in future story. 



LA FAYETTE. 185 

Thou midst heroes led the van, — 
Herald of Columbia's glory — 

Envoy of the rights of man. 
E'en despots, at thy voice appealing, 

From prescriptive folly broke ; 
And in thee, with kindred feeling, 

Europe's chivalry awoke ! 
'Twas then, her noble spirit soaring. 

Shook off the feudal dust of years. 
And o'er the wave with banner tow'ring. 

Came warrior-chiefs and chevaliers. 
Ages of glory, stars of heaven. 

Kingdoms and kings shall rise and set. 
But this, thy gage, for freedom given. 

No, never shall our sons forget. 
Deeds like these, dear to our sires. 

Shall live and deck the lofty rhyme, 
Deeds like these, like signal fires. 

Blazing through the lapse of time, — 



186 LA FAYETTE. 

Shall, midst thraldom's darkest night, 
Be as a watchtovver to the free. 

And, blazing on the freeman's sight, 
Bid him strike home for liberty ! 



THE END. 










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